


A Dark Deception

by xXdreameaterXx



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternative Universe - Crime, Crime AU, F/M, Gen, Non-Graphic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-06-21 04:00:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 60
Words: 94,584
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15549138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xXdreameaterXx/pseuds/xXdreameaterXx
Summary: When the body of a woman washes up on the coast of a small Scottish town in 1992, the residents prepare to mourn their local teacher. Only Clara Oswald is very much alive and John Smith, the new detective in town, knows that she is hiding something. Why else would she choose to live a hermit-like existence in a godforsaken place near Kirkwall? Just when he starts to believe that she is innocent, the whole world seems to turn against her and John finds himself in a race against his boss to find out what exactly happened that stormy January night, even though the truth might not be what he had hoped for...





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome back, my faithful readers :) I hope you're going to enjoy the story just as much as I loved writing it. Can't wait for me to finish posting? Check out my Tumblr or Twitter for a way you can read this story in one go :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, a huge, massive THANK YOU to my dear friend Liz (universe-on-her-shoulders) for taking the time to proofread this story ahead of release. Second of all, another big thank you to everyone who waited so patiently for this fic. It's my first attempt at a crime story and I had a blast writing it - which is why it turned into my longest work to date which I will post on my usual schedule for basically the rest of the year. Don't want to wait that long? Eager to read it in one go? Check out my Tumblr or Twitter for details.
> 
> A second and third instalment are also in progress, so stay tuned ;) Now, I hope you'll enjoy this ride.

The rough January wind stung as it whipped the air and caused the waves to crash against the coast with such force that it blew the spray against his numb face. Detective Inspector John Smith had only been outside for a couple of minutes and he had already lost the feeling in his lips and fingers. The memories of Scotland he had in his mind weren't particularly nice to begin with and this weather wasn’t doing a lot to improve them. His childhood home was desolate, grey and brutal, much like the unforgiving waves that raged around his feet. John Smith looked down at the twisted body that had been washed up by the storm and now lay sprawled out across the stones below him like a cruel reminder of how fragile life actually was. While the rest of the team had rushed down to check for signs of life, John only needed to look at her to know that any effort to revive the woman would be futile. It was better to stay up here on the sea wall and wait for them to confirm what he already knew while remaining relatively dry. Down there, the waves had drenched the officers in a matter of seconds.

“It's a woman,” a female voice called out to him and John Smith turned his head and saw that Kate Stewart had climbed back up and joined him on the cliff. She was his boss and had more brains than the rest of the team combined, but sometimes, John thought that after years of living here, the local stupidity had rubbed off on her.

The last time he had seen her, she had still been a child, a teenager, two years his junior. That was before he had packed his bags and fled this godforsaken island, not thinking that he would ever come back. John and Kate had been friends once, in another lifetime, but a lot had happened since then and he didn't think that she was very eager to revive their friendship, not after so many years, not after what had happened. Now, as he looked at her, John could see nothing of the child she had been. Age, the police force, two children and a nasty divorce had toughened her up to the point that he thought she wouldn't hesitate to break his neck if he stepped out of line and a part of him admired her for that. Kate had changed from a girl he used to protect to an authority figure that was not to be crossed.

“I know,” he replied gruffly. He almost had to shout because the wind carried the sound faster than it was possible to pick it up.

“She didn't die here.”

“I know,” John repeated. “There's no blood.”

Kate inhaled sharply and looked down to where her team were collecting all the evidence that they could, which was proving to be rather difficult, not least as the water had most likely already taken care of that and John Smith guessed that their fingers were as numb as his own. “They're going to take her to the morgue and Osgood will take a look. Have you met Osgood yet?” Kate enquired, but it seemed she was asking out of politeness rather than curiosity.

“Not yet, no,” John replied and he wasn't actually eager to. Most of the people around here were pudding brains, dull and boring and empty-headed. He still missed London.

“Well,” his boss said and took another look around. Her breaths were sharp because it was becoming difficult to breathe in the wind. “I'm guessing it was suicide. There's a cliff a few miles from here that's a popular spot. The bodies usually wash up around here and it's the season.”

“Mm-hm,” John hummed in reply even though he wasn't actually listening to what Kate was saying to him. He liked to keep his head clear of any speculation until he had gathered the facts and that was what his boss was doing, speculating. She had no idea how the woman had come to be down there, but he was going to find out. John Smith was, in his view, the best thing that could happen to the Police Service of Scotland.

Something moved below him and John leaned forward a little to get a proper look at what was happening down there. Apparently, they had finished collecting all the major evidence because the policemen set out to move the body and once more, John was glad he wasn't down there with them. Even though the woman was small, he could only imagine how heavy her limp, soaked body was by now. However, as the officers turned the woman over, ready to hoist her on a stretcher, the team suddenly stopped and even Kate stepped a little closer to have a look. From up here, John Smith couldn't say what made them pause, but he was curious to find out. There was nothing about the woman's pale face that seemed out of the ordinary to his eyes. The team and Kate froze for an awfully long moment and all John could hear was the sound of the waves.

“Oh my God,” his boss uttered quietly and a small shiver ran across the back of his neck. It was horror: pure, unadulterated horror in her voice.

“What?” he barked at her. John didn't have the patience for this kind of agitation in the middle of a police investigation. His head shot around and he glared at Kate, but her eyes were fixed on the dead woman's body. The shock was written all over her face. John watched her swallow as she tried to regain her composure.

“I know that woman,” she replied eventually and even though she was trying hard to hide the shock, her voice was still trembling a little. “She teaches my kids. She's the English teacher. Clara Oswald.”

As he turned his head back towards the scene below him, John Smith wondered what had happened and how the local teacher came to be lying dead on the cold, wet stones near the sea. If Kate's theory was true, she had jumped off a cliff somewhere nearby and a part of him was curious to find out why before he had to remind himself not to give in to Kate's hypothesis too early.

“Was she the type?” he enquired and he realised that he should probably tread more carefully from now on. A woman they knew was dead. Everyone on the police force would be in shock. That was one of the many disadvantages of living in such a small village where everyone knew everything about everyone else. John hated it and it was one of the reasons why he had felt drawn to the anonymity of the city.

“The type for what?” Kate's voice was toneless when she spoke, her vacant gaze still fixed on the dead body.

“To kill herself,” he replied impatiently. “Was she troubled? In a bad relationship? Lost someone? Did she seem unhappy?”

Kate Stewart didn't answer him immediately. Instead, she took a moment to ponder her reply and before she did, she shrugged. “I don't know,” she said. “I hardly knew her. Miss Oswald moved here, I don't know, six months ago? She mainly kept herself to herself.”

John made a mental note of everything Kate told him in case it would be important later on in their investigation and he had to investigate. Even if his boss was sure that they were looking at a suicide, he had to rule out other possibilities.

 

Knowing that Kate and the rest of the team probably needed a moment, he turned around and walked back in the direction of the lonely man who stood awkwardly on the edge of the scene, a few feet away from the rest of them. He seemed cold, but John couldn't allow him to go home just yet. First, they would have a little chat.

“You were the one who called us, right?” he asked the man and the closer John drew, the more familiar the stranger looked. Maybe it was only his imagination, but maybe Clara Oswald was the only new face that had come to this area in the past 30 years.

“Brian Williams,” the man replied and suddenly put on a bright smile as he went to shake John's hand. His grip was firm and determined, maybe even friendly. “You're old Malcolm's boy, aren't you?”

In return, John frowned at Brian. He had hoped that spending his adult life in London would have made people forget about him and his connection to Malcolm Smith – also known as his father – but most of all, he hated to be called a boy when he was in his fifties and his hair had turned grey a good while ago. Nothing about him even remotely resembled a boy. Not the indomitable mass of silver curls on his head, not the wrinkles that lined his face or the nose that just seemed to stick out somehow, the one he had never known what to think of. No, John shouldn't allow people to call him a boy, especially not when they weren't much older than he was. He remembered Brian Williams now. He had been a young lad when John had left Scotland, but he didn't think they had ever talked.

“So, um, you found the body, is that right?” John repeated, not eager to be drawn into conversation about his father or the fact that he had moved back to Scotland. This wasn't the time for small talk, not when there was a dead woman just a few feet away.

“Aye,” Brian confirmed with a nod. “I was out for a walk. I do that every morning, you know, when no one else is up yet. I usually take my camera, too, but it's too foggy for that today.”

John made a dismissive gesture, telling him to skip the wittering and get to the point. “And while you were out on your walk, you saw the body?”

“That's right.”

He looked around for a moment while he considered his next question when something dawned on him. “This is quite far from your house, isn't it? Is this your usual route for a short morning walk?” he enquired, then shrugged. “You must have walked for what, 45 minutes?”

“Sounds about right,” Brian said and a shiver suddenly came over him as if he had only just remembered how long he had been out in the cold. “The seagulls were circling around the spot, so I went to see what they were so excited about. That's when I saw her.”

“And then you rushed back to call us?”

Brian nodded.

“Did you realise who it was?”

In return, the man frowned at John as if he wasn't quite sure what his question was supposed to mean or why he was asking it at all. It was as if John could read the man's thoughts from his mind as he came to the conclusion that the dead woman was someone he probably knew.

“No, I just saw a woman,” Brian replied eventually. “Why? Who is it?”

John granted him a polite, forced smile. “I'm afraid I can't say,” he lied. He probably could, and knowing this place, they would have figured it out in no time when Clara Oswald failed to show up at work on Monday. Combined with the description Brian would without a doubt give them, and the entire area would know within a day. The longer her identity remained a secret, the better for him and his investigation. John Smith had better things to do than to deal with nosy parkers.

“You can go home,” John told him and nodded towards the shivering man. “But stay close to the phone during the next few days. We might have more questions.”

Brian nodded and smiled at him again. Somehow, John thought he didn't take the death very seriously. It was as if it was just a part of his everyday routine for him.

As he made his way back to Kate, John noticed that the team was beginning to emerge from the cliffs and they were carrying the stretcher holding Clara Oswald's body. He came to a halt next to his boss just as she lifted the sheet to see the woman's face. There was no doubt that Kate had needed to confirm her horrible conclusion, that the dead body indeed belonged to Clara Oswald. When she turned away, John knew that she had been right.

He took a closer look and immediately realised that Clara Oswald had once been a beautiful young woman. He assumed that she was in her thirties. The slightest wrinkles lined her face, now broken by a couple of scratches and on the spur of the moment, John reached out and stroked a strand of hair out of her face that had surely once been a healthier colour. Hopefully, she didn't have any relatives around here because John wasn't quite sure how he would break the news to her next of kin. He had always hated that part, especially with someone so young.

“Osgood will take a look,” Kate said and her voice tore him out of his thoughts. “In the meantime, we should go and take a look around her house.”

John nodded absent-mindedly, but his focus remained on the dead woman's face. He was sure that it would haunt him for the next few nights.

“She may have left a letter,” Kate remarked and then turned around on the spot and marched off, leaving John alone with the dead woman for a moment. For some reason, he felt incredibly sorry for Clara.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the first comments! I'm happy to hear you're already intrigued and now that you've met John, I think it's time to have a look at Clara. . .

Clara Oswald awoke from a nightmare similar to the ones that had been plaguing her for months. Her heart was beating so fast that the first thing she did when she sat up was to reach up and touch her chest. There it was, hammering beneath her palm in a thump-thump-rhythm, slowing down bit by bit after she realised that it had been nothing but a bad dream. A quick glance at the alarm clock told her that she had 40 minutes until she had actually planned to get up, but knowing that she would spend the remainder of the time thinking about her dream, Clara threw the duvet aside, pushing her thoughts about the nightmare away with it, and rose to her feet. Maybe she could use the time to mark some of her students' essays.

After Clara had switched on the kettle, her gaze wandered outside the window and she realised that she had another dreary January day ahead of her. Back in London, she had always thought that the weather was bad, but it was nothing compared to the cold Scottish coast. But at least it was peaceful around here. From her old flat, Clara had overlooked buildings, building, and more buildings: her neighbours doing their shopping, children playing in front of the housing estate, cars driving past. When it wasn't foggy, Clara could see the green fields and the coastline from her new kitchen window; or at least that was how she remembered it. It had been an awfully long time since last summer and by now, Clara had almost forgotten what green meadows looked like. Was this how she had imagined the Orkney Islands? Then again, Clara hadn't really given it much thought. She had found a job. She had seen the lonely little house. She had compared the money in her bank account, an inheritance from her late grandmother, to the cost of moving here and she hadn't hesitated for long because, above all, Clara had needed to get out of London, away from everything and everyone else. Whether she was happier here, Clara couldn't say.

As she stared out of the window, her nightmare started to come back to her like one of those intrusive thoughts you just couldn't shake no matter how hard you tried, and she was glad when the water boiled because making tea provided her with a distraction. By the end of the day, Clara hoped, the nightmare would be nothing but a faint memory in the back of her mind. In the meantime, she would focus on the other matter that usually occupied her mind - wondered whether moving here had been the right thing to do. 

Six months ago, Clara had packed up her life in London to move to a desolate spot near Kirkwall and most days, she didn't regret it at all. She had picked a lovely spot, albeit a lonely one, but she hadn't stayed lonely for very long. The people in this area all seemed to know each other and at first, she had been afraid that she would never be able to fit in, that she would always be viewed as the outsider, the new woman, the stranger, but that worry hadn't lasted for very long. Her job as a teacher had brought her into contact with a lot of parents and a lot of people her own age and one month later, she had made her first friend – Amy Williams. She and her husband Rory, along with his father and their daughter, lived a short distance away: just far enough for a nice, long walk, but close enough for the occasional girls' night. Clara had been glad of the company from the start, but she still wasn't quite sure whether she missed London or not. Yet the reasons why she had left were the same now as they had been six months ago. No, Clara determined that she was better off in the middle of nowhere, making a fresh start. She had left her past in London, but it was just as they said – the past had a way of catching up with you. And it had caught up with her a short while ago, but it was nothing she couldn't handle. She was more determined than ever to leave it behind.

 

Armed with her mug of tea and a stack of papers, Clara made her way into the lounge, still dressed in her dressing gown. It wasn't as if her students would know how she had marked their papers, even though the occasional red wine or coffee stain might leave little to their imagination. Maybe she wasn't the world's best teacher, but she was certainly the best the children could hope to find up here, where the classes were so small that Clara never taught more than twelve students at once. She had to admit that she quite liked it that way. Of course, she had to drive to Kirkwall every morning, but it was a drive Clara loved because it took her through the amazing Scottish scenery.

As she contemplated her students' essays over her cup of tea and a piece of toast, Clara couldn't help but shake her head at the rubbish some of them had put on paper. In between placing Shakespeare in the 14th century and pointing out naughty references, Clara realised that she would have a lot of work to do before the children left school in a couple of years. Some things really weren't any different to how they were in London, but she hadn't chosen her profession for nothing. Even if Clara would never manage to reach them all with her love for English literature, some students would take her words to heart and develop a liking for the classics. That was why she had become a teacher.

Suddenly, something caught her eye and Clara turned her head towards the window, but whatever she had seen, it was no longer there. She squinted, but the view remained unchanged. There was nothing there except for the grey, dull landscape behind her front garden, but still, it was as if she could feel a presence lingering, hiding behind the walls that separated her from the cold outdoors. Then she heard a sound like the snapping of a twig beneath someone's foot.

Instinctively, Clara rose to her feet, but she was not a tall woman and her view out of the window didn't change all that much. She couldn't spot anything out of the ordinary. Yet when the footsteps outside became more obvious, Clara knew that something was wrong, that someone was sneaking around her house. It was too early in the morning for visitors and the only person she had ever seen out here at this hour was Brian Williams, Amy's father-in-law, but he wouldn't hide or lurk around her home. If he wanted something, he would just ring the doorbell. This was someone else and she was living out here on her own with nothing to protect her but her front door.

As she carefully made her way towards the door, Clara reached for the first object that could be used to defend herself with and it was only when she held a tight grip on the broomstick that she realised how futile any attempt at scaring a burglar away would be for someone her size. Again, her heart was starting to beat a little faster, but this time it wasn't because of a nightmare but rather due to anticipation. She had no idea what she was going to find, and no idea what would happen next. Then came another sound, one infinitely more frightening to a woman who lived on her own, the sound of someone tinkering with her lock from the outside. It was a faint sound: a little bit of scratching, some cracking and then, the most terrifying of them all: the sound of a lock clicking as it opened. Clara tightened her grip on the broomstick and held it up in front of her as the door swung open.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for your comments! Will Clara be alright? Will she and John run into each other? Let's have a look!

John Smith felt as surprised as the woman looked. After Kate's conclusion that the dead woman was the local teacher and her reassuring words that yes, she lived on her own in a small house out of town, he had suspected to find the place empty. Had he known that someone was likely to answer, he would have rung the doorbell instead of picking the lock, but what John really hadn't expected was to see a ghost and at first, that seemed to be the only reasonable explanation for what was happening.

The woman was brandishing a broomstick when they entered, but she soon seemed to notice the uniforms of the men behind him and lowered her makeshift weapon. She was still dressed in her dressing gown, the edges of a flowery nightie visible underneath, but that wasn't what had caught John's attention. It was her face. He blinked a couple of times and yet the sight still remained unchanged and John just couldn't explain it. Half an hour ago, he had touched her pale, cold skin. Half an hour ago, she had been dead. How could it be that Clara Oswald was standing right in front of him now, as alive as one could be?

For a detective, he was admittedly bad with faces and often forgot which witness was who, but he remembered this face. The round shape, the funny button nose, the carefully-shaped dark eyebrows. John had memorised it in an instant and now he was seeing it again and he wasn't sure what to think of it.

“Who are you?!” Clara Oswald's voice tore him out of his thoughts. “Why did you break into my home?”

The first thing he noticed was the absence of a Scottish accent and he remembered Kate telling him that she had only moved here a couple of months ago. She had come here from England – Lancashire perhaps, judging by the accent.

Finally, Kate seemed to wake from her trance and she stepped forward, even though the confusion and the shock were still written all over her face. She was struggling to comprehend the situation just as much as he was.

“You're alive,” Kate uttered as if she needed to say it to believe it.

Clara Oswald uttered a short, slightly nervous laugh and her gaze wandered from Kate to John and then to the police officers behind them. Instantly, John turned around and waved at them so they would wait outside. There was no need for the entire team to be in here when there was obviously nothing for them to do.

“Of course I'm alive.” There was a puzzled expression on Clara's face. “Why wouldn't I be alive?”

What happened next wasn't planned, John just acted on impulse. Maybe it was because he thought that Kate was too emotionally involved in the case. He couldn't blame her for that. Clara Oswald was someone she knew, someone who taught her children, she shouldn't be expected to deal with this professionally even though it had turned out that Clara wasn't dead after all. Maybe he just wanted the case to himself. Or maybe, just maybe, John wanted _Clara_ to himself for some insane reason.

“Why don't you wait outside and I'll explain the matter to Miss Oswald?” John asked in a gentle manner as he stepped forward and looked straight at Kate.

She hesitated for a moment but eventually agreed. “I should call Osgood,” she concluded. With a nod towards Clara, Kate retreated until he and Clara were on their own.

 

Suddenly, John felt a little at a loss. He was a good detective and he knew it; he had successfully closed countless cases in London and he would successfully close this one too, but as he stood in the small house and looked into Clara Oswald's confused face, the same face he had seen on a dead woman not even an hour ago, he wasn't quite sure where to start. He had expected to deal with grieving relatives, with the search for the killer of a young woman, or the suicide note of a young woman, but he hadn't expected to find the woman in question still alive. That really was a first in his career.

“What's going on?” Clara demanded to know and from one moment to the next, her attitude seemed to change. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and even though he towered over the petite woman, John suddenly felt a little intimated by her. And he should. They had just broken into her home. “Why did you storm in here like this? Why was Kate surprised that I'm alive?!”

John granted her a hesitant smile, probably the first sincere one he had managed ever since he had come back to Scotland. “Why don't we sit down and I'll explain everything?”

Clara shrugged and gestured towards the sofa and chairs in the living room behind her and John followed her lead because there was nothing else he could do. When he sat down in one of the chairs, he noticed the half-eaten toast and the mug of tea next to a stack of essays. They had interrupted her breakfast and he should probably apologise for that.

“I, um, I'm sorry we just broke in here like that,” he said and glanced up, giving Clara another apologetic smile.

“You should be,” she replied sternly, but if he wasn't entirely mistaken, there was a hint of amusement in her voice. “You're lucky I didn't call the police.”

John chuckled. “You wouldn't have waited long. We were already here,” he attempted to joke, hoping that Clara would forgive them their rude entrance.

Normally, he didn't care much for manners when he was in the middle of a case. Often, his gruff behaviour made the guilty party crack sooner or later because they were scared of him. But Clara Oswald shouldn't be scared. Until he had learned more about the dead woman and the teacher in front of him, Clara remained an innocent party, one they had disturbed early in the morning. If she continued to be mad, he would just have to blame it on Kate.

“Want to tell me why you broke into my home on a Sunday morning?” Clara enquired curiously. She reached for her tea and John watched her take a sip and wrinkle her nose in disgust when she noticed that it was cold.

John inhaled deeply while he pondered where to start. “We received a call this morning about the body of a woman who had washed up on the coast. Kate believed that it was you.”

Clara Oswald set the mug back down and didn't look at him. “Oh?”

“To be fair, I can understand her confusion. The resemblance is remarkable.”

She raised her head and for a moment, John couldn't place the expression on her face. Was it confusion? Surprise? Shock? Curiosity? He decided to continue.

“Kate suggested that we should have a look around your house, see if anything suspicious popped up,” John explained and suddenly, he wished that Clara had offered him a cup of tea as well just so he would have something to fiddle with. He didn't know what to do with his hands and he didn't know where to look either because the sight of Clara confused him a little. In his mind’s eye, he still saw the pale, lifeless face that resembled hers.

“So you're looking for whoever killed her?” Clara asked him.

John frowned at her in response. “I never said anything about a killer.”

She shrugged. “Well, isn't there a killer?”

It wasn't right to share details of an ongoing investigation at such an early stage, John was fully aware of that, but it was her face, her very much alive face that so resembled that of the dead woman, that somehow compelled him to at least give her something.

“We're not ruling out anything at this stage,” he explained quietly. “We don't know whether it was suicide or an accident or if there was someone else involved. We don't even have the autopsy report yet. Your house really was the first stop on our list.”

Clara nodded slowly and finally, it dawned on him that he hadn't even asked the most important question yet. Despite being a good detective, he could be quite slow sometimes.

“Did you know the woman?” John wanted to know.

Clara seemed surprised by his question and hesitated before she spoke. “I don't think so,” she replied. “I mean, sure, I've met people who look a bit similar, but no one you could actually confuse me with.”

“You should probably come down to the mortuary tomorrow and have a look,” John concluded. “See if you recognise her.”

“I doubt I will,” Clara replied at once. “There's really no point.”

John granted her a smile. “It's on your way home from school. And I promise we won't keep you long.”

Clara didn't answer immediately, but as she considered her response, her eyes remained fixed on him. There was a sudden hostility in her gaze that he didn't understand and he knew that the time had come for him to leave her alone – as soon as he had convinced her to take a look at the body. While the woman remained a Jane Doe, the investigation would be slow and maybe Clara could help even if she didn't believe she could. At least that was the most obvious reason. The other reason was that a strange part of him wouldn't mind seeing her again.

“Alright, I'll stop by after work and-”

Clara didn't have a chance to finish her sentence as the door suddenly burst open once again and when John turned around to see what had disturbed them, he spotted a young redhead standing right behind him. The woman looked distraught.

“Oh my God, Clara!” she exclaimed in a heavy Scottish accent before she darted forward and flung her arms around Clara. “Brian said he found a body and that the police were headed towards your house. I almost had a heart attack.”

So John's suspicions had been confirmed. News really did travel fast in this corner of the world and he had little doubt that by the end of the day, everyone in the vicinity would have heard of the dead body and the fact that somehow, Clara Oswald was caught up in it all. While she was busy calming down her friend and reassuring her that she was, in fact, very much alive, John quietly rose to his feet and excused himself.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so, so much for your kind comments!

“I'm fine, really,” Clara asserted when her friend Amy insisted on making them a cup of tea. It seemed that there was no changing the redhead’s mind. “And I'm honestly not dead.”

To make a point, Clara turned around on the spot, proving that she was not only alive but completely unharmed. There was no need to make such a fuss about the matter. In fact, Clara would prefer everyone to just let it go and forget about it. But that wasn't going to happen, was it? Not when the police had already started to investigate and spread the news of Clara's resemblance to the dead woman.

“I can see that you're alive and well,” Amy replied as she handed her a mug of tea. “But that doesn't mean I didn't still get a huge scare.”

“How do you even know about this?” Clara wanted to know.

She sat back down on the sofa and only now realised that it was almost nine o’clock by now and she was still dressed in her nightie and dressing gown – and she hadn't finished marking a single essay. On the bright side, she hadn't thought about her nightmare again. Amy followed her lead and took her usual spot on the armchair where a couple of minutes ago, the detective had sat. Clara wasn't entirely sure what to think about the man who had just barged into her home.

“Brian came back from his morning walk,” Amy started. She was clutching the hot mug of tea in her hands for warmth. “He was out for a really long time and when he came back, he said he had found a dead woman and called the police. At first, Rory and I thought he was making it all up.”

“Well, apparently, he wasn’t,” Clara remarked, for lack of anything else to say.

“And apparently, the police made it sound as if he should've recognised the woman, like it was someone local. He said they drove off towards your house when he turned to look back. I didn’t even think, I just grabbed my jacket and drove over.”

Clara granted her friend a smile. She and Amy had become close during the previous months and she was grateful for her friendship. Without it, Clara would probably be extremely lonely out here. “It's sweet that you were worried, but I'm obviously not the dead woman, so you can stop fussing now.”

“Why did the police come to talk to you then?” her friend enquired.

Clara merely shrugged. “They said the woman looked like me. They thought it was me and I'm sure there's an insult in there somewhere. I probably need to get a tan.”

Amy started to chuckle in amusement. “Well, good luck getting a tan around here. My skin has never been any other colour than that of milk,” her friend argued, but soon, her face took on a more serious expression. She leaned forward just a little to get a better look at Clara, or as if there was someone close by who could overhear them. “So, did they tell you anything? About the woman?”

She shook her head. “The detective didn't even tell me his own name,” Clara said, only realising that fact now. It was a little rude. “He said they didn't know anything yet, but that nothing is being ruled out. It might have been a suicide or a murder.”

“John Smith.”

Clara frowned at her friend. “Excuse me?”

“John Smith,” Amy repeated. “That's the name of the detective who was here.”

She scoffed in response. “Well, I'm sure that in a year, I’ll know every single person who lives around here just as well as you do.”

“He's not from here,” Amy explained quickly. “I mean, he is, but he only just moved back this week. He's the son of Malcolm Smith, you know, the old guy who died, the one who lived in the huge house up the hill.”

At last, her fresh cup of tea had cooled down enough for Clara to drink it and she took a careful sip while letting the news sink in. She had been living here for six months, but sometimes, she still struggled to put a name to a face. “Was Malcolm Smith the old grump with the sweet dog?”

“That was him, yep,” Amy confirmed and suddenly, John Smith's behaviour made so much more sense. Clara had encountered his father right after moving here and upon asking whether she could pet his dog had received a rather rude and unfriendly response. After that, she had made sure to stay clear of Malcolm Smith even though she had seen him around occasionally. “His funeral was Thursday and his son’s come to organise everything, but Brian said he might stay and take over his father's estate.”

Clara snorted. “Estate is _not_ what I'd call that ramshackle house, and it is _way_ too big for one person. No wonder Malcolm was always in such a bad mood.”

“It's not as falling-down as the old Campbell Estate near the cliffs. Also, people say John’s single,” Amy confirmed and suddenly, a cheeky smile spread across her face. “He might have come back to find a wife. Brian says he used to be close to Kate. Maybe he wants to rekindle an old flame.”

“People say a lot of things,” Clara replied tiredly. She knew Kate as the mother of two of her students and that way, she had learned of a rather nasty recent divorce. Rekindling an old flame was probably the last thing Kate Stewart wanted right now when she had only just managed to get rid of one idiot. “Especially Brian. Has anyone ever told everyone to mind their own business?”

That made Amy laugh. “We live on an island where everyone knows everyone else and nothing really interesting ever happens. Gossip is all we have.”

“Well, you can stop gossiping about me because I'm not dead. I just happen to look like the woman they found on the coast,” Clara remarked grumpily. The last thing she needed was people bothering her and sticking their noses into her personal business. All she wanted was to be left alone. That was the reason she had come here.

Yet Amy didn't seem like she was going to go away anytime soon. Instead, she leaned just a little bit closer. “Are you sure you're okay though?” she asked sincerely. “I've been worried about you.”

Clara smiled in return. “Like I said, there's nothing to worry about. I'm alive, I haven't fallen off a cliff, everything's fine.”

“It's not about that,” her friend said and then hesitated for a moment as if she wasn't quite sure how to continue, how to express what she wanted to say. Clara was starting to get a vague idea where this conversation was headed and she really didn't like it. In fact, she wanted to avoid it at all cost. “You've been weird these last few days. I, well, I wasn't sure-”

“Whether I've jumped off a cliff?” Clara asked in disbelief.

Amy shrugged.

“Seriously, I'm fine,” she repeated for what felt like the fiftieth time today, but the look she received in response told her that her friend wasn't entirely sure she could believe it. “Okay, if you must know, I've been feeling a bit down because of, well, _you-know-what_ , but that's seriously nothing to worry about. I'm certainly not going to jump off a cliff,” she clarified and realised that she sounded angrier than she had intended to. Quickly, Clara lowered her voice. “It's just that occasionally, I need a bit of quiet time.”

Finally, Amy seemed to understand because she nodded and smiled at her, that sincere and sweet Amy-smile that Clara had come to appreciate so much. Amy was the only person Clara had confided in so far and she had asked her to keep the story to herself at least for the time being. At some point, Clara would be ready to open up about it to more than just her, talk about it freely, but not just yet.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the sweet comments :)
> 
> Now that we had a glimpse at Clara's personal life, how about we take a look at John's?

John had never understood some people's fascination with sports, at least not the kind people merely _watched_. It was one thing to love a good run or to go sailing or to enjoy a nice game of tennis with a friend, but he had never really seen the point of watching other people play sports. Sadly, his father had disagreed. But his father was no longer here, so John was free to remove every last bit of Celtic FC memorabilia he could find inside the house. When he had been a child, his father had taken him to a match or two, but he had soon realised how pointless it was and how little interest John had in his father's passion. Maybe that was when they had started to drift apart. Maybe a shared love for the Celts, as his dad always called them, would have been able to keep them together.

John snorted at his own silly thought while he took the signed football shirt off the wall and as he put it down, he considered selling it before something caught his eye. Raising his head, he soon spotted the culprit: his late father's chocolate Labrador. He narrowed his eyes at the animal.

“Don't give me that look,” John growled in the dog's direction. “Face it, I'm your new master and I don't share my father's taste in décor.”

The dog, somewhat theatrically named Odin, tilted his head to one side and continued to watch John as if he was trying to figure out what had been said. John's first instinct had been to give the dog away, to find a rescue centre or someone else to take him in. He wasn't a pet person, never had been, but there was something in the dog's eyes that had changed his mind soon enough. It wasn't Odin's fault that his previous owner had died, and he shouldn't be punished for Malcolm Smith's stupid decision to buy a dog at his old age.

When the dog continued to stare at him, John Smith got down on the floor next to Odin and scratched his ears. He nuzzled his furry head into John's palm.

“Don't look so happy,” John reminded him, “because if you misbehave, I'll still give you to the rescue place.”

John knew that he wouldn't, but it was good to have a suitable threat to hand just in case. Out of all the things his father had left behind, Odin seemed the only thing that was worth keeping. At least he would have some company in the big old house. As he looked around, his hands still petting the dog, John realised that he would have a lot of work to do around here. It seemed that his father hadn't done much with the place after John had left except for the most urgent repairs. The walls were in dire need of some new paint and the roof could do with some attention as well because he was sure that it wouldn't survive a major storm and those were common around here.

As soon as he had finished school, John had left the islands. He had gone to London, far away from his father's judgement, but now that he was back, Malcolm's words still resounded in his head.

 

_“I don't want to waste my life in this place,” John had argued. “I'm tired of seeing the same faces every day, tired of seeing the same goddamn island every day.”_

_His father had snorted. “What? Do you think the world has been waiting for you? Do you think it'll be better in the big city?”_

_“At least there's more to do than solving a recent spate of chicken thefts!” he had shouted back. “When I become a detective, I want more than that. I can achieve so much more than that!”_

_His father's hand had landed on his shoulder, physically and symbolically weighing him down. “You'll never make a great detective, John.”_

 

His father’s words had stung terribly and even after decades, John found himself remembering them. He had proven his father wrong multiple times. Back in London, he had helped solve thefts and murders and rapes and arsons. He knew that he was a good detective, but even after his father's death, it felt to John as if he still had to prove to the old man that he could be a _great_ one. And where better to do that than on the island that his father had protected until the day he had died? The Jane Doe that had washed up today could be his chance. After that, he was free to leave, free to leave the memory of his father behind – or stay here forever if he chose to.

There was a loud knock on the front door and it reminded John that the doorbell was another thing on the list that he needed to fix. He rose to his feet, Odin following at his heels, and made his way towards the door. However, when he opened it, he found a surprise standing on the other side.

“Kate,” John blurted out, “I wasn’t expecting you.”

In response, his boss and former friend held up two bottles of beer. “Housewarming gift,” she explained with a hint of a smile. “I'd have cooked, but that would have been a rather poor gift. I wanted to stop by sooner, but I figured you were busy with the funeral and settling in.”

John held the door open a little wider, allowing her in. Odin greeted her like an old friend and she patted his head in return before she walked into the living room and sat down as if she knew the place so well that she didn't need any further invitation. And she did know it, of course.

John sank down in the other seat and for a moment, all that could be heard was the crackling of the fire in the nearby fireplace. The heating was only partially working, so he had had to resort to the old-fashioned method of staying warm. Yet another thing to fix. Odin yawned next to them before he plopped down on his dog blanket near the fire.

“So, um, I suppose I should thank you,” John said after a while.

Kate didn't reply. Instead, she opened the bottles of beer and handed one of them to John. He thanked her with a curt nod.

“It's nice to know that my father didn't have to spend his last days alone.”

His boss shot him a dark look. “He would have liked _you_ to be there, not me.”

In response, John inhaled sharply. “I tried, okay? As soon as you called me, I quit my job and cancelled the tenancy of my flat. It's not my fault I couldn't leave immediately.”

“You don't have to justify yourself to me,” Kate said. “I liked your father. He was my police partner and a good man.”

“And a lousy father,” John muttered under his breath, too quietly for Kate to hear. But it was true what she said. Kate had phoned him after his father's health had taken a sudden turn for the worse and knowing that it was his last chance, John had packed up his life in London, determined to move back here and into his childhood home, determined to take over his father's job, determined to be here for his old man's final days. He had arrived a day too late.

“I didn't mind taking care of him, John. We're still family,” she argued. “After my father died and after my divorce, he was one of the few people I had left.”

 _We're still family._ The words tugged at his heart because John knew he was guilty of more than just abandoning his father.

“I'm sorry about, well,” John hesitated, not sure how to say it. It had been so long and the apology was more than overdue. “The business with Missy.”

“Water under the bridge,” Kate replied with a dismissive gesture. “We were kids. Though I'm glad that Missy left when you did. What’s she up to these days?”

He scoffed in response. God only knew where Missy was now. “Probably in prison in some corner of the world,” he guessed.

“Or a lunatic asylum.”

John raised his head and decided to have a proper look at his old friend for what felt like the first time since he had come back. They used to be close as children, almost like brother and sister. It wasn't unusual, given that their fathers had been friends, hunting buddies and colleagues. The Orkney Islands were a small place and it felt as if everyone was either related or close friends – or sworn enemies. Kate had been a friend and he realised that his earlier assumption might have been wrong. Maybe she did want to revive their old friendship after all.

People talked in this part of the world and that was how he had quickly learned about Kate's life during his absence. In her late 20s, she had married a man from Kirkwall and she had given him two children before she had caught him cheating. What had followed was a nasty battle for divorce and custody of the bairns. Kate had won and looking at her now, John could see why. She was a strong woman. He could tell by the fierceness in her eyes, by her posture, by every careful word that came out of her mouth. He still admired her.

“Will you stay?” Kate asked after a while. “I mean, I know you came back to take care of your father. I wouldn't blame you for packing your bags again now that he's gone. After London, this place must seem boring to you.”

John took a moment to look around him. The dog would hate the noise of the city, repairing the house was a new challenge and then there was the case, the body of the young Jane Doe that looked like the local teacher. Could he pack his bags and leave it all behind?

“No,” he said with a sigh. Then he turned his head towards Kate and granted her a smile. “I think I'll stay, at least for a while. I mean, now that my father is gone, you'll need someone to protect the island, right?”

Kate smiled in response. “Are you forgetting that I'm still here? I can assure you that I'm more than capable of protecting my home.”

“I don't doubt it,” John replied. “But isn't it more fun with a partner?”

“Just to make one thing very clear,” his old friend said, the amusement audible in her voice as she leaned forward and looked straight at him. “I'm your boss. And I'm expecting you to be on time tomorrow morning.”

John chuckled. “Yes, boss.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big group hug for all the sweet readers who left a comment! Thank you guys!

Most of his Monday morning was spent on tedious work, the work John hated above all else. There was paperwork to do, forms to sign and Brian Williams stopped by to give his official statement after Kate called and invited him in. He hadn't wanted to deal with it, but his boss had been insistent that it needed to be him to ask Brian the same questions he had already asked him the day before when all John wanted was to wait for Clara Oswald to arrive. Missing the opportunity to be the one to show her the body was completely out of the question. John wouldn't let Kate take that away from him. Yes, she was his boss and yes, she told him what to do, but if he was the one to greet Clara first, it would be harder for Kate to deny him the chance to interrogate her further.

During the night, John had come to the conclusion that something was off about Clara Oswald. Of course, he didn't actually believe that she was guilty of a crime, but her reaction to the body hadn't exactly been a convincing one. Either that or she had still been tired when they had spoken. John wasn't entirely sure about that, but he wanted to talk to her again and that had nothing to do with her pretty face.

In the meantime, John hurried along the corridors to the part of the building that contained the morgue and Osgood's office. He hadn't met her yet, but that was about to change when he came to a halt in front of her office door. The sign made him pause for a moment. _Petronella Osgood, forensic pathologist._ John snorted at the ridiculous name before he knocked.

“Go away!”

The annoyed tone in her voice didn't deter him, however, so John stepped inside without an invitation. The office was clean and smelled faintly of embalming chemicals and disinfectant even though this room held no bodies. Instead, there was a desk and a woman sitting in front of a microscope. John thought she was around Clara Oswald's age, maybe a little older, but everything about her, from her messy, dark hair to the large pair of glasses, seemed almost childlike to him. Her style surely hadn't changed much since her mother had stopped dressing her.

“What part of _go away_ did you not understand?” she asked him without looking up.

John Smith cleared his throat. “I was hoping to talk to you about the Jane Doe.”

With a start, Petronella Osgood dropped whatever she was doing and shot around. Either her eyes had grown wider all of a sudden or the thick glasses distorted their size, but she was definitely surprised to see him here.

“DI John Smith,” she blurted out while she rose to her feet. “W-w-what are you doing here?”

She was stammering and nervous for some reason and John frowned at her in reply. “I, uh, I just told you. I came to talk about the Jane Doe.”

“You can't!” Osgood almost yelled at him before she nervously reached for her glasses and straightened them. She fiddled with them for a moment while she tried to regain her composure. “I mean, um, I haven't finished yet. You have to come back later.”

He was obviously interrupting her work, so John decided to give her a little more time and nodded before he started to leave. Yet before he had reached the door, he heard Osgood's excited voice once again.

“I've read about you, by the way,” she called after him. “Detective Inspector John Smith from London.”

John stopped dead in his tracks. That wasn't something he had expected to hear, quite the opposite. People knowing him because of his father was something he could understand, people still recognising him from a couple of decades ago seemed natural, but not this. Had this young woman really gone to the trouble of looking him up?

Slowly, he turned around and looked at the woman once again and noticed the excitement in her eyes. “You looked me up?”

Osgood uttered a nervous laugh. “Well, it's not like we get a famous detective on our team every day,” she explained with a smile.

“I'm hardly famous,” John replied grumpily. The pathologist really was blowing the entire thing out of proportion. “I'm just from London, that's all.”

“But your name comes up a lot,” Osgood argued. “The way you caught the Richmond arsonist, that was impressive.”

He granted her a smile in response as he started to retreat. Petronella Osgood seemed to be some sort of fan and he didn't have the time to deal with that right now, not when he had to wait for Clara to show up. “Hardly,” he replied and reached for the door handle. “I'll come back later.”

“There's a gap in your career though,” she added. Osgood straightened her shoulders and looked straight at him, the previous nervousness almost forgotten. “You were fired in 1975, but then you came back two years later. What happened?”

John's face twitched and he hoped that Osgood didn't notice. That era in his life was over and he hated to talk about it, hated to so much as think about it, and he hadn't expected anyone here to bring it up. Kate had never requested any detailed information from his previous employers. He was a detective and Malcolm's son – that had been enough for her. So why and how had Osgood dug it up?

“I'll see you later,” John repeated in a friendly manner, but he couldn't help but feel a little wary. Not because he thought that part of his life could still come back to haunt him or have consequences for his current job. No, John had been reinstated and forgiven for the mistakes of his past, and yet he hated the idea of people knowing about it.

As he made his way back to his office, John thought that he would continue the dreary paperwork until Clara arrived and he was already beginning to dread it when the woman in question turned around the corner and walked in his direction. John instantly slowed his pace when he realised that she hadn't noticed him yet and he used the moment to observe her as she strode towards him. The last time he had seen her, her body had been covered by a long nightgown and robe, veiling her figure, but now she was dressed in a way that left no doubt she was an English teacher. The navy dress over the yellow jumper, combined with a thick pair of tights, looked as prim and proper as it could get. However, what didn't quite fit in were the biker boots and the leather jacket she was carrying. When he also spotted the helmet, it suddenly made a little more sense. Clara Oswald owned a motorbike and John almost chuckled at the idea of this small woman on a big and heavy motorcycle.

The expression on her face was one of annoyance and it didn't change much when she spotted him at last. Clara Oswald didn't want to be here. Quite the contrary, it looked as if she would rather be far, far away.

“Miss Oswald,” John greeted her in a friendly manner and extended his hand. “Glad you could make it.”

Clara shook it firmly and looked him straight in the eyes. “Kate Stewart said I should talk to you,” she replied without even saying hello first. There was a hint of hostility in her voice and John knew that he would have to hurry through the process before she directed the full blast of her annoyance at him. That was something he wanted to avoid at all cost. “She pointed me in this direction.”

“She wasn't wrong,” John replied and granted her a smile. “Follow me.”

John led the way back to Osgood's office and he dearly hoped she wouldn't continue to ask about his period of absence from the police while Clara was present. The pathologist, however, didn't pay them much attention as she was quite busy with her microscope, so John stepped through to the mortuary and Clara followed him a little more reluctantly.

When they stepped inside, it was cold and the smell of embalming fluid became stronger, and he watched Clara raise her hand up to her face to cover her mouth and nose. She looked paler all of a sudden.

“Sorry about the cold and the smell,” he apologised. “I'd say you get used to it, but not really. You might want to give those clothes a wash when you get home.”

“Charming,” she mumbled and when she withdrew her hand, John noticed for the first time that her hostility had probably nothing to do with him or the fact that he had asked her here, but the nervousness he suddenly detected. He thought he knew what it was about because every now and then, her eyes wandered to the table next to them where the Jane Doe lay beneath a sheet.

“Have you ever seen a body?” he asked in a calm voice.

Clara Oswald hesitated but eventually shook her head.

He smiled at her in return. John had been correct. “It's okay to be nervous, but there's nothing to be scared of,” he told her. “Think of it as one of the shells you can find on the beach. It's just a shell. Whatever made them a person has long moved on.”

John watched her take a deep breath before she nodded and when he stepped towards the table and reached for the sheet, he waited to see her reaction and only when she gestured for him to do it, John lifted the sheet.

For a moment, he forgot all about Clara Oswald next to him as he looked at the spitting image of her lying on the table. Whoever she was, John understood how Kate and all the others could have taken her for Clara because they were identical. If it hadn't been for the fact that she was standing right next to him, living, breathing, and uttering a small gasp, he would have believed it was her. He would get to the bottom of this mystery somehow.

Clara Oswald turned away and John decided put the sheet back over Jane Doe's face before he turned his attention towards the woman that mattered right now.

“Have you ever seen this woman before?” he asked carefully.

The shock was visible on her face and right now, she seemed even paler than before, her skin the colour of chalk under the harsh light. It could be either from the smell and inevitable nausea or the fact that she had just seen her own ghost. “Every day when I look in the mirror,” Clara responded breathlessly, her voice husky and broken. Then turned to look straight at him. “But I don't know her. Who is she?”

John smiled at her and hoped that the kindness would help. “We don't know yet, but we're working on it.”

“Let me know when you figure it out,” Clara Oswald replied and then quite abruptly, she turned around on her heels and darted out of the room.

John hesitated a moment too long to go after her, wondering why she was in such a hurry and figuring that it was probably because of the smell. The first time he had been in a room like this, he had almost thrown up. When he finally moved and followed Clara through Osgood's office and into the corridor, she was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments!!! Glad you're already enjoying the mystery and the clues and I'm especially glad that you've already come up with your own theories, but let's see how things will unfold, shall we?

“Are you blushing?”

John turned his head and noticed that Osgood had joined him in the corridor, but he still continued to look around in case Clara Oswald was anywhere to be seen. She wasn't. It was as if she had vanished into thin air. Then finally, the meaning of Osgood's words started to sink in.

“Blushing?” he asked in confusion. “Why would I be blushing?”

Osgood shrugged. “She's very pretty,” the pathologist said nonchalantly. “And, of course, she looks like she could be our Jane Doe's identical twin, only more alive and with a healthier complexion and-”

“What did you just say?!” John half barked at her, cutting Osgood off before she could continue her rambling.

Osgood frowned at him. “That she's pretty?”

“No, after that!” she said and waved his hands impatiently. She had suggested something that hadn't even crossed his mind, but now that it came to think about it, it made sense.

The frown on the woman's face deepened. “That she looks like Jane Doe's identical twin?”

“Is that possible?” John wanted to know. Of course, it was unlikely when Clara had just told him she didn't know the dead woman, but what if they were related without her knowing about it? Some twins got separated at birth and he had heard of cousins who looked eerily alike.

Yet the pathologist didn't seem as excited about the prospect as he was. “Well, I suppose it could be, yeah. We'd have to do a DNA test, but then we'd know.”

“Good,” John concluded. “I'll talk to her about it, see if she's willing to do that. If they're actually related, it could make the hunt for her name easier.”

Clara probably wouldn't like him showing up again today, but he could try it tomorrow once she had recovered from the shock of seeing her first dead body and he could ask her how she was feeling about it, make sure Clara was alright. Yes, that's what John would do.

“You're blushing again,” Osgood said, giggling.

“I'm not,” he lied. He probably was for some reason. “It's just warm in here.”

“Well, you're lucky cause I just finished my report. Want to go back inside and talk about how our Jane Doe died?”

John followed Osgood back inside the morgue where the smell of embalming fluid instantly hit his nose once again and he knew that Clara's weren't the only clothes that would need a wash after today. It was the sort of smell that clung to fabric forever and he would carry it everywhere and probably upset the dog in the process.

Jane Doe was exactly where he had left her a couple of minutes ago and when Osgood pulled back the sheet, he once again couldn't believe his eyes. She and Clara had to be related in some way or another. There was no other explanation for it. She had the same funny nose, the same shape of lips, the same distinct eyebrows. It was too much to be a coincidence.

“Jane Doe has been through quite a bit,” Osgood began to explain as she pointed towards the head. “But what killed her was the wound on the back of her head. My guess is that she fell or jumped down a cliff somewhere and hit a rock because I found fragments in her skull.”

“Could someone have struck her?” John wanted to know.

“It would have to be someone exceptionally strong,” she replied. “No, my theory is that she fell off a cliff and hit her head. She has fractures all over her body. Ribs. Thigh. Arms. Another person wouldn't have done that to her.”

“Unless they killed her with the blow and then pushed her body off a cliff.”

Osgood granted him just a hint of a smile as if she was impressed by such a simple theory. “Well, the only way you'll know is if you search the coast. If there was a struggle somewhere, if someone had pulled another person across the field, we'd see. You could also have a look at her clothes, but she must have been in the water for most of the night, so I doubt there'll be much evidence left.”

John nodded. “There's a team out there combing the area right now,” he explained and he wished that he was with them, not stuck here with the paperwork. But it was either going on an evidence hunt or seeing Clara Oswald again. The choice hadn't been a hard one.

“You could be right, of course. Someone could have struck her across the back of the head, knocked her out, thrown her off a cliff and the injuries she gained during the fall cover up what happened before. It's not impossible, but hard to tell from just her body.”

“Has anyone examined her clothes and bag yet?”

“No bag, but the clothes haven't been examined,” Osgood replied, then pointed towards a box. “They're in there if you want to have a look.”

John exhaled sharply before he reached for the box and hoisted it on the nearest table. There was always something fascinating about going through a box of evidence for the first time, the magic of uncovering a secret, of discovering who a person was before they met an untimely end. People fascinated him even though, most of the time, John hated to deal with them, but they were more interesting like this. Until they uncovered more about them, until they broadened the bubble, a few items and the clothes on their body was all their world consisted of and John enjoyed the process of slowly figuring out who they were. Then Osgood spoke again, tearing him out of his thoughts before he had even lifted the first object.

“Is the woman a suspect?” she wanted to know. “The one who was just here?”

John shot around and merely looked at the young pathologist for a moment. “Clara?”

Osgood nodded. “I mean, she fled the room. That looks a little suspicious, doesn't it?”

“How did _you_ react when you saw your first body?” John barked at her and quickly cleared his throat. There was no reason to be so harsh with her when she had asked a completely legitimate question.

However, to his surprise, Osgood giggled. “I thought their skin felt funny, but most people felt a bit sick,” she admitted.

“Well, I suppose that's what Clara Oswald felt, too. Can't have been easy to see someone who looks just like yourself on this table.”

“So you don't think she's a suspect?” Osgood pressed.

John shook his head. “You said it yourself, only a very strong person could have caused the blow. And I can't imagine Miss Oswald throwing a body of her own size and weight off a cliff.”

“Pushing would work,” the pathologist suggested. “And if you know someone well or you trust them, you wouldn't necessarily be wary about going on a walk with them, even next to a cliff.”

“Clara Oswald said she doesn't know her,” John repeatedly firmly. “So right now, she's not a suspect. Now, let me have a look at this box, okay?”

Osgood retreated and a few seconds later, John heard the door close behind him and he was locked in with Jane Doe and the ungodly morgue smell. Yet his curiosity was stronger than his need for fresh air, so he put on a pair of gloves and pulled the first object out of the box.

Her pager was a recent model, yet terribly scratched as if it had suffered from the fall just as badly as its owner. He wondered whether the tech department could still get anything useful out of it or whether the night in the ocean had done it in. The attempt to switch it on failed, so John put it aside and reached for the woman's coat. They had dried it before locking it away, but they seemed to have done the fabric a disservice with that. The leather sleeves of the dark mac had become brittle and started to crack in a couple of places. The rest was in an equally bad condition with tears and scratches all over. John checked the label and recognised the British brand as one he knew quite well. If someone were to turn the hoodie he was currently wearing inside out, they would find the exact same label inside. Whoever she was, she must have earned quite a bit of money because the brand of her coat was an expensive one. Out of curiosity, John reached into the pocket and was surprised when his fingers felt a damp piece of cloth. He pulled it out.

As soon as he was looking at it, John realised that he had found something very important, something that could possibly lead to finding out who their Jane Doe was. It wasn't a piece of cloth but a note that hadn't yet dried completely inside the pocket and his heartbeat instantly started to accelerate a little even before he knew what it said. It was as if he could feel it, the importance of this little note leaking out into his fingers before he had read it. Carefully, as if afraid he might damage it, John unfolded the piece of paper.

From one moment to the next, it seemed as if his heart had stopped because the name and the address on the note were very familiar to him by now and it made no sense to him whatsoever.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so, so, so much for the sweet comments :) I'm so happy you're enjoying this. But what about the mysterious note John found?

Early in the morning, the nightmares came back. Only this time, Clara saw the face – her own face – dead, lifeless, lying on a table underneath a white sheet. There was something peaceful about the way she had looked, but somehow, Clara knew that peace was probably one of the last things she must have felt before her death. Could anyone really go peacefully? Wasn't the fear of death, the fear of the unknown something everyone shared? Clara Oswald wasn't scared of death itself, she wasn't scared of what might come after, but she felt strange when she thought about her own body being lowered into the ground, covered with earth and it didn't matter how many losses she suffered, a part of her just felt a primal need to cling on to life.

When she realised that her thoughts were beginning to circle around death and the faces of everyone she had had to let go, Clara pushed the duvet aside, put on her wellies and her warmest coat and then she headed outside.

Today, the air was surprisingly mild and Clara decided that a nice walk before school would probably help clear her head. Amy had advised her not to go out while there might be a murderer on the loose, but Clara wasn't afraid of that. For a moment, she wondered if Kate Stewart would tell her anything about the investigation when she came to pick up her children today. Maybe she should ask her, try to figure out what the police knew. Didn't Clara have a right to be informed when the dead woman looked like the spitting image of her?

A sound made her look up and at first, she wasn't sure where it had come from and what it meant, but when it happened again, Clara recognised the voice and the name that was being shouted even before she spotted the dog running across the field.

“ _Odin!_ ”

The chocolate Labrador dashed across the meadow, not paying his new owner a bit of attention and Clara had to hold back a laugh when she saw the figure that followed. Detective Inspector John Smith was running after the animal, flapping his arms in despair, but he failed to catch up with his dog and it seemed as if his shouts were falling on deaf ears. The dog clearly had other ideas than returning to him.

Not knowing what else to do, Clara crouched down and clapped her hands. “Odin! Come here!”

Whatever the dog was chasing suddenly became a lot less interesting when he spotted Clara and Odin turned around, slowed his pace and trudged in her direction. As soon as she was able to reach him, Clara grabbed the collar with one hand and used the other to pet the dog's head.

“You're a good boy, aren't you?” she asked Odin, who now seemed entirely happy standing still because of the attention she was paying him. His fur was soft, especially around the ears, and Clara rubbed them happily. Whatever John Smith's father had told her about the dog being aggressive had been a blatant lie and she felt an odd sense of satisfaction that she got to touch the animal after all even though the previous owner would never know. “You're a very good boy.”

“I beg to differ.”

Clara looked up and smiled at the rather offended looking detective. Maybe he could tell her what they had found out about the body of the woman if she played nice?

“I think he just needs to get used to you,” she replied and rose to her feet when John Smith put the dog back on his lead. “He was your father's dog, wasn't he?”

John Smith scoffed. “Even the newcomers know everything about everyone here.”

“My friend Amy told me who you are because you failed to introduce yourself when you broke into my house,” she explained. “I'm a long way from knowing everyone around here. I just know my students and their parents and that's about it. I don't go out much.”

Finally, a soft smile appeared on the detective's face and it seemed a little awkward, as though he didn't smile very often or as if he reserved the gesture for those who he thought were deserving of it. “You're right. I inherited the dog along with the house. I was going to give him to a rescue place, but it didn't seem fair. I mean, he's not exactly a puppy anymore and he's used to the house.”

“Look at the bright side,” Clara said with a shrug. “At least you have a companion. I'm sure he'll get used to you.”

Again, John Smith smiled. “Would you like to walk with us for a bit?”

Clara checked her watch and noticed that she still had enough time before school and it was an opportunity for her to find out what he knew about the dead woman, so she nodded in agreement.

The dog had been sniffing around the field, but he seemed to understand that the lead made it impossible for him to get away now, so Odin just walked next to them, only occasionally giving her or John Smith a nudge. While Clara was still pondering how to start, the detective didn't seem to want to waste any time before he brought up the subject.

“There's something I want to ask you,” he began carefully. “You can decline, of course. You have every right to. But it's something that our pathologist brought up and I wanted to see if she was right.”

Clara turned her head and looked at him as they walked, but she couldn't read any kind of hint from his face. “What is it?”

John Smith hesitated as if he felt uncomfortable asking her about it. “It's about the resemblance.”

“I don't have any siblings if that's what you're going to ask me.”

“It's exactly what I wanted to ask you,” he replied and now looked back at her. Clara could tell from his expression that he was serious about it. “I was wondering whether you'd be willing to do a DNA test. Then we'd know for sure whether you're related or not.”

“What part of _I don't have any siblings_ did you not understand?” Clara spat and instantly realised that her voice had come out too harshly. She quickly cleared her throat and glanced away to avoid his curious look. “Sorry, I just… I'm an only child. I grew up alone. There's no sister that I know of and my father never said or did anything that would make me question that.”

“I'm sorry,” he mumbled quickly. “I didn't mean to imply that… well-”

“That my father had another child with someone who wasn't my mother or his new wife?”

“His new wife?” John Smith enquired carefully.

Clara blew the air out between her teeth and stared ahead for a long moment. She had come to this place for a fresh start and she had hoped to leave all the emotional baggage behind. “My mum died when I was a teenager. Dad got a new wife.”

There was a long silence between her confession and his reply, but when he spoke, his voice was unusually soft. “I'm sorry. If it's any consolation, I know what that feels like. I also lost my mother at a young age, but there was never a replacement. My father never found anyone who could tolerate him long enough.”

Clara scoffed. A replacement was not what her father's new wife had been, not even close.

“As I've said, you have every right to say no to the DNA test, but to us, it would be a box we could tick off. We have nothing to go on,” the detective admitted and he sounded a little desperate. “The only thing we have is your resemblance to her and even if it's unlikely, we just want to be certain whether you're related or not. Even if she was a distant relative, we'd have somewhere to look. Without a connection, we have nothing.”

Clara considered her options carefully for a moment and chose not to reply immediately. What would happen if she agreed to it? And above all, what would happen if she didn't? She had read about it. Would he wait around until she left a mug unguarded or dropped a piece of gum to do the test without her consent? Wouldn't it be better to just say yes?

“Alright,” she replied and then shot him a dark look. “Under one condition.”

John Smith seemed relieved and his smile widened a little. “I could buy you a coffee,” he suggested, sounding hopeful.

In response, she frowned at him. “That's not my condition,” Clara said sternly. Coffee? The suggestion had come out of nowhere and taken her a little by surprise. She wasn't entirely sure what to think. Did he want to buy her a coffee because he liked her or because he wanted to interrogate her further?

Suddenly, John Smith uttered a nervous laugh. “I'm sorry, that came out wrong,” he apologised quickly. “I just thought that, um, you might want someone to talk to after… you know, the body and… what was your condition?”

Clara exhaled sharply and continued to look ahead across the fields. She could see her house from here as well as the old Campbell Estate, a true eyesore among the beautiful landscape. “I want to know about the dead woman. You're right, she looks an awful lot like me and I feel like I have the right to know what happened to her.”

“Well, like I just said, there isn't much,” the detective replied. “She probably died of hitting her head on the rocks, but we don't know whether she jumped, fell, or was pushed. The police are still searching the coast for any kind of clue.”

“That's all?” Clara wanted to know.

“Yes.”

She glanced at him because the tone of his voice sounded strange all of a sudden and somehow, Clara felt like he was lying – or maybe not so much lying as omitting details. There was something else, she could feel it. And it made the detective tighten his grip on the lead.

“You, um, you haven't remembered anything else, have you?” he asked, his voice almost brimming over with uncertainty. “That maybe you've met her after all?”

“No,” Clara replied brusquely and then decided to change the subject. “I'll stop by the police station after work to give you a DNA sample for your test.”

 

When they parted ways and Clara returned to her house while John Smith led his dog back across the field, she still wasn't sure whether he liked her or whether he suspected that she had something to do with the dead woman. That was something she would have to figure out.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your kind comments! Sorry to keep you waiting with the reveal of whose address was on that sheet of paper, but not really haha XD

Walking Odin had taken a little longer than expected, especially the part where he had run into Clara Oswald, but he couldn't bring himself to regret the encounter. John Smith would get what he wanted – Clara's DNA sample to compare to their Jane Doe – but it didn't make him as happy as he would have liked and the reason for that was hidden in his pocket, wrapped in a little evidence bag. John had meant to hand it in, he really had, but first, he needed to make sense of it. How had a small note with Clara Oswald's name and address come to be in Jane Doe's pocket?

Had Clara lied to him about not knowing her? John Smith couldn't quite believe it, but if she had, there could only be one reason for it. She was somehow involved in that woman's death. John tried to imagine it, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't think of Clara Oswald as a murderer. If what she said was true and Clara didn't know her, then how had her address ended up in Jane Doe's pocket? Had the woman seen Clara in a newspaper or on the street, realised that they looked alike and decided that they had to meet? What had happened to her after arriving on this island that had led to her death?

John Smith had to admit that he had absolutely no idea, but he hoped that the DNA test would shed some light on it. If they were related, he could search her family tree until he found the right branch and once he had a name, the rest would surely fall into place.

With his hands in his pockets, John felt the weight of the note heavy within the evidence bag because he knew that he should have told Kate or Osgood about it. Whatever it meant, the note was evidence and he had no right to withhold it despite having a good reason to do so. He didn't think that Clara had actually killed the woman, but Kate would want to investigate the possibility and John knew that if he came to the conclusion that Clara was indeed a suspect, there would still be time for that later. For now, there was no reason to trouble any of them. In the meantime, John vowed to solve the mystery that was Clara Oswald because that was what she was to him – an enigma. What was a young woman like her doing in a godforsaken place like this? Surely she hadn't been tempted by the teaching job because teachers were needed all over the country and there was no need to move to a place only accessible by ferry or plane. The landscape was a possibility, but it seemed like a drastic change for someone from London and he spoke from experience.

No, Clara had moved here for a fresh start and she had chosen this place for the reason that she had _wanted_ a drastic change. Why that was, John could only guess. Maybe it was a death, maybe it was a relationship that had ended badly or maybe it was something else entirely, but it had been enough to make her change her entire life. John would find out what had brought her here.

He didn't pay much attention as he entered the café to grab a cup of coffee before beginning his shift, but it still came as a surprise to him when he promptly bumped into someone. That alone wasn't the problem. The warm, wet feeling of coffee seeping through his shirt, however, was.

“Oh dear, I'm so sorry,” the other man said immediately. John looked up to see a young man reach into his pocket and pull out a handkerchief that he attempted to hand over. John was reluctant to take it. Who still used handkerchiefs these days? “Please, take it. Before the shirt is completely ruined.”

Not knowing what other options he had, John reached out and took the small piece of cloth from the stranger before he set out to dab at his shirt – an utterly hopeless task because the coffee had already merged with the print of his fabric.

“I should really watch where I'm going, huh?” the man said, uttering a laugh and John decided to take a closer look at him. He didn't seem surprised or shocked, in fact, it was as if the man was very well prepared for a collision like that, the apology and the handkerchief already in place. Whatever the reason for it, pouring coffee over his shirt had been anything but an accident.

The young man was around his height, possibly in his late 20s and he didn't even have a hint of an accent. Tourist? No, not in January. But the next question that came out of the man's mouth would solve the mystery for John.

“You work for the police, don't you?” the man enquired curiously. “I heard someone killed the local English teacher. Everyone here is talking about it.”

The man was obviously working for a newspaper and he was on the hunt for a story.

“People are always talking,” John replied grumpily, glowering at the journalist as he returned the handkerchief. “I'd advise you not to listen.”

The last thing John wanted right now was to deal with nosy questions, so he pushed his way past the man and into the café to finally get that cup of coffee he had come for, but the journalist obviously wasn’t finished yet.

“So it wasn’t the teacher that you found, then?”

John turned around and glared at the man who was now smirking and seemed utterly pleased with himself. That was the last thing the investigation needed right now – journalists butting in, writing their inaccurate articles, speculating. He vowed to put an end to his unwanted prying.

When John approached the man, the journalist didn't step back. He didn't appear to be the least bit intimidated. “Listen here,” John spat and raised his index finger as a warning. “Whether or not the dead woman is a local teacher is nothing of your concern. Let us do our job and then you'll get to write anything you want, do you understand? Stop spreading rumours!”

The journalist uttered a short laugh and slowly started to step back. “You know what I think, Detective?” he asked, that smug grin still on his face. “Not even you're sure if it's the teacher or not.”

The man left the café and John was too baffled to come up with a proper comeback before he vanished outside because the journalist had said something very true and it got him thinking. How could they be sure that the dead woman wasn't the teacher? Clara Oswald had only lived here for a couple of months and she herself had said that she didn't go out very often. Would people notice if their local teacher had been exchanged for a lookalike?

Suddenly, John felt like laughing. Was the mystery of Jane Doe's identity bothering him so much that he would consider crazy theories simply because he didn't know where else to look? It was silly and most likely not true. Kate Stewart surely would have noticed, her students would have noticed, and why would someone want to assume Clara’s identity to begin with? John realised that it all came down to who the dead woman was. If he could figure it out, he was sure that the remaining questions would be answered in time, but for now, all he could do was pay for his coffee and go to work, hoping that at the end of the day, he would finally see some results.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for your lovely comments on the last chapter :) I'm sorry that I neglected to post on Saturday, but I had UniverseOnHerShoulders over and she distracted me XD

“You're late.”

Kate Stewart looked annoyed and rightly so as she stood by the entrance, her arms crossed in front of her chest as she glowered at him. When he was close enough, she gestured towards her watch.

“Sorry,” John growled in response. “I was pestered by a journalist on my way to get coffee. You'd think the world couldn't care less about what happens on this island.”

He had reached the top of the stairs and was about to enter the building when he caught Kate's eyes and noticed her discomfort at the mention of the journalist. Back in London, they had been everywhere, following him from the scene of the crime to his office and sometimes even to his own home just to ask him questions he wasn't allowed to answer and John had hoped that this pesky practice hadn't reached the remote Orkney Islands yet. He was wrong.

“I'm afraid where there's death and misery, the press is never really far away,” Kate replied and together, they stepped inside the building. She gestured for him to follow and John did until they finally came to a halt inside her office. As soon as the door was shut, Kate sank down right on her desk with a sigh so heavy that John knew she didn't have any news and was just as frustrated as he was.

“They've found nothing,” Kate said after a moment and her shoulders dropped in defeat. “The coast path is literally clear. No signs of a struggle, no footprints, hell, they didn't even find a single piece of litter. It's like no human being has ever set foot on that patch of landscape. The storm wiped everything clean.”

That was anything but helpful and John could tell why it bothered Kate so much. Even her theory of a suicide would mean that at some point, the woman had jumped off a cliff somewhere. There had to be traces.

“Maybe the estimations were wrong?” he suggested carefully. “I mean, there was a storm. Maybe her body was carried further than we initially thought.”

His boss nodded, but she didn't seem entirely convinced. “I've ordered them to broaden the search and to get another team to have a second look at the first area they covered. There just has to be something. But even if we find footprints, what good will it do? We don't even know who she is.”

John forced a sympathetic smile, but Kate merely sighed.

“I had hoped for this to be easy,” she admitted. “Things here usually are. But instead, I can already see us go through every single missing person's record there is. We'll be working this case until Nevermas.”

“ _If_ someone reported her missing,” John added.

Kate's head shot up and she glared at him so intensely that for a moment, he felt like taking back what he had just said. “Thanks, you know exactly how to cheer me up,” she spat, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

John inhaled deeply. “Maybe it's not as bad as you think,” he replied. “You know, Osgood and I were talking about the resemblance she and Miss Oswald share. I've asked her about it and she agreed to a DNA test. I know, it could just be a coincidence, but if they're even distant relatives, we'll find out who she is and once we know that, we'll find out what she wanted here.”

“At this point, I thought we'd have more,” she said. “There was nothing in Osgood's report that we didn't already suspect, the tech department got nothing from her pager except seawater and there was nothing on her that could give us a clue.”

Her words jabbed his chest like a prodding finger when he remembered the note that was still in his pocket and instinctively, his fingers tightened around the evidence bag. Maybe it was better if he told Kate about it now because he was fairly certain that she would get mad if he withheld it any longer, but John just couldn't bring himself to do it. At least not before he had spoken to Clara again.

“We'll see if the DNA test brings any results,” he replied instead and then he suddenly started to laugh. “You know, the journalist I ran into suggested that the dead person might have been indeed Clara and that the other one took her place.”

Kate snorted in response. “That's absurd. What newspaper is he working for? The Daily Nonsense?”

“I know,” John said thoughtfully. But they had nothing better to do, did they? One of them might as well put that theory to the test. “However, I've seen crazier things happen in London. It wouldn't hurt to…double-check, would it?”

Her face turned into a deep frown and John could tell that she was at least considering the idea even if she didn't take it seriously. “This isn't London, this is the middle of nowhere.”

“I've noticed.”

In return, Kate sighed heavily. “Well, I wanted to have a chat with Clara anyway when I pick the kids up from school today. She’s taught my children for six months and I haven’t even had the time to ask how she's doing with everything that's going on. I should talk to her.”

“Good,” John concluded. “Let me know if she turns out to be an imposter.”

Not that he thought she was, but there was still something strange about Clara Oswald and John, no matter how hard he tried, just couldn't put his finger on it. For a moment, he wondered where their chance encounter from this morning could be repeated because, the investigation aside, he felt as if Clara was lonely and that was a sentiment they both shared.

* * *

The headache had started at noon and despite the large cup of coffee Clara had consumed, it just wouldn't fade and her mood didn't exactly improve when she spotted Kate Stewart waiting in front of her classroom. It was another reminder that she had been stupid enough to agree to a DNA test and she doubted that she could take her consent back now.

Kate Stewart greeted her daughter and, after telling her that she and her brother should wait in the car, she turned her attention towards Clara with a bright smile.

“Miss Oswald, how are you doing?” she asked sincerely and Clara once again wished that there was a way to avoid this conversation altogether. All she really wanted was to go home and cure her headache.

“I'm fine, thanks,” she replied coldly. The last thing she wanted right now was someone's pity. She had had enough of that in London, in her old life, and this time, she really didn't deserve it.

Kate Stewart closed the classroom door behind her when all the children had left and once again, Clara became painfully aware of the throbbing in her temples. She needed fresh air.

“And how are you really?” her students' mother asked once again and this time, her smile was more sympathetic.

Clara let her shoulders sink in defeat, knowing that Kate wouldn't leave her alone anyway until they had talked properly.

“I think I owe you an apology,” Kate went on. “I'm afraid this case is taking up a lot of my time, otherwise I would have come to talk to you sooner. How are you dealing with it?”

Clara merely shrugged in response. What could she possibly tell Kate? “It's a little weird, I guess. Seeing someone with my own face,” she replied carefully. “I mean, I keep wondering what she wanted here. Whether she might have come here because of me.”

“We'll figure it out,” Kate promised her. “Don't worry too much about it. Whatever it was, her death wasn't your fault.”

Slowly, Clara nodded. There was nothing else she could do or say, but the truth was that death seemed to follow her everywhere. It was hard not to think of it as her fault. “That's reassuring,” she lied.

Suddenly, Kate reached into her pocket and to Clara's surprise, she pulled out a small tube. While she was still wondering what Kate Stewart was up, the woman already went on to explain. “I brought a kit. I figured you wouldn't wanna come back to the station only to take a DNA test.”

No, Clara really hadn't wanted that. She didn't want to take the test at all, but she didn't feel like she had a choice now that she had already agreed to it. “That's very considerate,” Clara said instead.

Kate handed over the little tube and when Clara unscrewed it, she noticed a small stick attached to the cap with a little swab at the end of it. “You just have to rub it against the inside of your cheek,” she explained even though it was unnecessary. Clara knew how it worked.

She inhaled deeply and opened her mouth, rubbing the swab against her cheek just as she had been told, all the while trying not to think about the outcome. It was better if she didn't think about it. Once it was done, Clara closed the container and handed it back to Kate. Now, all she could do was hope.

“If you don't mind, I'd like to get home now,” Clara said. Now that her classes had finished, the headache didn't feel as bad anymore, but she still wanted to put her feet up and relax with a cup of tea.

“Of course,” Kate replied sincerely, smiling again. “I'll let you know when we get the test results.”

“Thanks,” Clara mumbled and before Kate could continue the conversation, she reached for her bag and headed out of the door.

When Clara breathed in the cold winter air at last, she could almost believe that the nightmare was going to be over soon. But she couldn't have been more wrong about that.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me give you guys a cyber hug for the sweet comments :)
> 
> If the suspense is driving you mad already, I've got bad news for you... because there are many more chapters to come :D But for now, let's have a little look into John's past.

One thing John had realised early on was that his new pet was almost impossible to tire out. Even though they had already been walking for a while, Odin was still chasing every stick he threw with a sense of diligence John almost admired him for. His old bones were tired after a long day at work and he would love to know where this dog got the energy from. Then again, Odin had probably spent the day snoozing on his blanket while John had nearly broken his brain over the Jane Doe case.

Some days, John wondered how his father had done it. Even in his 70s, he had still worked for the police up until a few months before his death and somehow, he had found the time and energy for an agile pet. Was keeping Odin yet another way of trying to prove to his father that he could keep up? That he was just as good? That his father had underestimated him all his life?

John scoffed at the thought of it. His father was dead now and he could do whatever the hell he pleased. He had been able to do that ever since he had moved to London, but no matter how hard he tried not to think about it, a part of him always wondered whether he was good enough for Malcolm Smith. It was no surprise to him that Kate and everyone else had idolised his father. Even though John had inherited his brusqueness and lack of social grace, Malcolm Smith had been a great detective and a valued member of the community and his son was nothing but the next best replacement. After years of trying to prove that he was just as good as his father, he now had a new audience to prove himself to and the case of the mysterious Jane Doe was the perfect place to start. But what would happen if he didn't crack it? After all, it wouldn't be the first time.

* * *

**17 years ago**

 

John stepped into the office, already knowing what would happen next. He and his boss had had that conversation multiple times already and by now, John could recite his sermon by heart. It didn't matter to him anymore. It didn't matter what anyone thought. Three years and he still hadn't found her – that was all he could focus on.

His boss sat behind his desk, his nose buried so deep in a report that John felt almost bad for interrupting him even though this meeting hadn't been his idea at all. DCI Ray Simon was someone he had always hated to be around and John couldn't even say why. John often came across as rude, but he never failed to show kindness when it was truly needed. Simon wasn't like that. His boss was ruthless and had very little empathy. His colleagues often talked behind his back, exchanged stories about what a hero Simon was, but how cold and lacking in compassion he was. They even said that when Ray Simon lost his hand in a brutal fight with a serial killer, he didn't even scream. Instead, he used the stump to bring down the murderer. Now, John could see the lifeless prosthetic on his desk, disguised underneath a glove and he wondered whether it even bothered Simon at all, whether he could feel something as human as pain.

“Glad you could make it,” Ray Simon said in a tone completely void of emotion. A normal person would have started with a hello, but not him. “Sit down.”

It wasn't a question, it was an order and John didn't think he could afford to challenge him on something as small as this, so he took a seat on the other side of the table. Again, John's gaze wandered towards the gloved hand and he found himself wondering what it looked like, what it would feel like to an ordinary person that wasn't Simon. He also wondered how old his boss really was. He had been old when John had started this job and he was old now and somehow, he didn't doubt that Simon would die at this desk because retirement was out of the question for a man like him. No one knew about Ray Simon's personal life or whether he had one at all, but John didn't doubt that the job was what he was living for and if was necessary, he would die for it, too. Sadly, John Smith knew that kind very well because his own father was like that and suddenly, he was afraid that Malcolm Smith was going to find out what was happening right now, find out about John screwing up.

In a swift movement, Simon put down the file and directed his gaze at John, catching him off guard so he couldn't look away from the prosthetic hand in time. Naturally, his boss noticed. “If you're going to ask me a personal question about losing my hand, I'd advise against it,” he barked.

“I wasn't going to,” John replied sharply, looking Simon straight into the eyes. It dawned on him that this wasn't the normal lecture he had heard before. No, today was about something else and John, despite being a good detective, had no idea what it could be.

With a sharp intake of breath, Simon leaned back in his chair. He hesitated for a moment, but John knew that it wasn't because he was looking for a sensible way to start. Simon wasn't the sensible type. “I saw that you've applied to take a leave of absence. Again.”

John nodded. Something told him he wasn't going to get it. “That's right,” he replied. “It shouldn't take long. Not more than a month.”

“No,” Simon said simply. “Because it's not going to happen at all.”

John was ready to rise from his seat and complain, to explain to his boss why it was so important and why he just had to go, but he thought better of it.

“During the last three years, you've been absent from your job for 15 months,” Simon explained even though it was unnecessary. John knew exactly how much time he spent here and how much he hadn't. He still kept count. “I know that it was hard for you, I know you want to find her, but don't you think that it's time to let it go?”

“I have a new lead,” John said, the urgency audible in his voice. Somehow, he had to convince Simon that it was worth it, that this time, he would succeed. “I found a witness who claims to have seen her. I need to travel there and see for myself.”

“Just like the last witness who only wanted the money and turned out to know nothing?”

Not knowing how else to make his point, John slammed his hand on the table while he rose to his feet. “I have to go!” he almost yelled at his boss. “I have been working this case for three years, I can't let it go now! Not when there's finally a lead!”

“The case is closed!” Simon barked at him more loudly than John had anticipated, but it was the words that surprised him even more. He needed a moment to let it sink it, but no matter how hard he tried, he just couldn't wrap his head around it. It couldn't be. Then, Simon sighed audibly. “You're a good detective, John, and I know that you're personally involved, but I can't afford to waste any more time and men on a wild goose-chase like this. After three years, we just have to assume that she's dead.”

John shook his head frantically. “No, someone saw her, I know it. I have to talk to the witness.”

“John, if you take that leave of absence, it's going to be a permanent one,” Simon stated plainly and crossed his arms in front of his chest.

There was a long pause between the two men and John merely stared at him in response while the truth was finally beginning to settle. Ray Simon was closing the case, the only one that had ever meant something to him not only as a detective but as a man. John couldn't allow that to happen, he couldn't allow to let it go, not now, not ever, even if it meant losing his job. In fact, the longer he thought about it, the more the idea appealed to him. He would have all the time in the world to look for her until he could bring her home.

“You're firing me?” John thought he should still ask just to be certain. “I'm your best detective!”

“You used to be,” Simon corrected him. “Until you started chasing ghosts. Now you're useless to the department.”

Slowly, John nodded and he prayed that the news wouldn't travel as far as Scotland. That would prove his father right at last.

“The decision is yours. You can leave and look for her or you can stay and focus on the people who actually need your help,” his boss said in a calm manner.

John took a deep breath. The decision was an easy one. “I'll clear out my desk,” he replied and turned around, leaving the office without even looking back once.

* * *

Once he stepped back inside the house, the ringing of his phone alerted John and he approached the device, somehow already knowing that the police station was calling him. Hoping that they had finally made a breakthrough in the Jane Doe case, he answered the call.

“Detective Inspector Smith.” The voice of the young officer was quivering a little as he spoke. “I know you're off duty right now, but something happened and it's close to your house. We thought you might want to take a look yourself before we sent someone from Kirkwall.”

John frowned at the phone in response. “What happened?”

“We received a call about a break-in. Nothing major. Nothing really bad. But we should have a look.”

John inhaled deeply and considered his options. He didn't really care about anything that wasn't related to Jane Doe, but he realised that break-ins would also be part of his job description sooner or later. But did he really have to deal with them after his shift had already ended? “Alright,” he agreed eventually. At least it gave him an excuse to stop dwelling on the past. “Where was the break-in?”

“Clara Oswald's home.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, my faithful readers, for the lovely comments :) And I'm sorry about the cliffhanger (but not really...)

John didn't bother to let Odin off the lead and instead decided to take the dog with him straight to Clara Oswald's house. It was a longer walk than he had intended, but Odin didn't seem to mind as they headed across the fields until Clara's house came into view. Even though it looked quiet and normal from the outside, as far as he could tell in the twilight, John couldn't help but worry about what he was going to find once he stepped inside. He knocked impatiently and even tried the door handle, only to find that it was locked from the inside. He knocked again.

“Miss Oswald?!” John shouted through the door. “It's DI John Smith. Please, open up!”

“I'm coming! Stop trying to batter the door in!”

She sounded annoyed and John heard the lock click before the door swung open, revealing Clara Oswald not only sounding but also looking disgruntled. He couldn't really hold it against her after the events of the previous week.

“I told the police it wasn't an emergency,” she told him and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “Nothing was stolen.”

“I know,” John replied for the lack of anything else to say. “The station called to let me know, and asked if I could have a look because I live around the corner. Can I come in?”

She hesitated for a moment and eventually nodded. When John attempted to tie Odin to the front door, however, Clara interrupted him. “You're not going to leave him out here, are you?”

John looked up, confused as to what she was talking about, yet Clara merely rolled her eyes.

“Bring the dog inside,” she told him. “I think I have a few treats somewhere.”

There was little else he could do, so John gave the lead a brief tug and Odin followed him into the house where the signs of the break-in Clara had mentioned instantly became more apparent. The first time he had been to her home, he had noticed how cosy and neat it was and now, even though she seemed to have cleaned up already, the chaos the burglar had created was still visible in the opened drawers and scattered objects. Once he stepped through to the living room, he also noticed something else. The redhead, Clara's friend, who had visited the day they had found the body.

“Good evening,” John greeted her formally. “I'm Detective Inspector John Smith.”

The other woman smiled at him and his gaze trailed to the stack of papers she was holding in her arms. She was obviously helping Clara with the clearing up.

“We know who you are,” the woman chuckled. “And I'm Amy Williams, Clara's friend.”

He nodded and let his eyes wander around the room until they came to rest on Clara once again. To his relief, he noticed that she seemed unharmed except for maybe the fright the break-in had given her – hence the presence of Amy Williams. “So, um,” John began and averted his eyes again. Somehow, he often found it difficult to look at people while he was trying to be nice. “How are you feeling?”

Clara shrugged. “I'm fine. Nothing happened to me if that's what you're asking. The burglar had already left when I got back after work.”

Again, John felt a lot of sympathy for Clara and her recent struggles. The dead woman that looked just like her, having to come to the police station to view the Jane Doe, the DNA test and now this. But it couldn't be connected, could it? The burglary seemed like such a random incident that could have happened to anyone, but it had happened to Clara Oswald who was now once again at the centre of an investigation. Was this really a mere coincidence?

“Was anything taken?” he wanted to know. “I mean, I can see you're looking through your belongings, but have you noticed anything missing yet? Anything important? Money? Valuables?”

When John raised his head to examine her reaction, he saw Clara's eyes wander towards a cabinet for such a brief instant that at first, he wasn't even sure whether he had imagined it. Whatever the cabinet was, it was probably where Clara kept her most important documents.

“No, nothing was taken as far as I can see,” she replied eventually and for a moment, John wasn't even sure she was telling him the truth. But why would she lie about it? If something was taken, she would surely want it back. “I mean, we haven't looked through everything, but the important stuff is still here.”

Suddenly, Clara seemed to remember something and she turned around to open one of the few cupboards that were actually closed and when she went down on her knees afterwards, Odin seemed to smell what she was up to. The dog crossed the room and ate the treat straight out of Clara's hands. “I keep some to make friends with the dogs who walk past my house,” she explained and by the look of it, it worked on Odin. The dog was wagging his tail and licking the remaining crumbs from Clara's palms.

“A team will probably come by tomorrow to see if they can get prints off the surfaces and door handles,” John explained. “You and your friend should try not to touch them.”

“Does this have something to do with the body you found?” Clara wanted to know and her directness took him a little by surprise. He had considered the possibility, but Clara asking about it only seemed to confirm his suspicion. He regretted the fact that he couldn't give her anything more than a maybe.

“I don't know,” John admitted.

“What if it was her killer and now they're coming after me?” she asked and John thought that she sounded far too calm to actually believe it.

“We don't know if she was killed,” he reminded her. “It could have been an accident and the break-in could be a coincidence. Maybe they were looking for money and when they didn't find any, they left.”

“I'm not happy about this,” Clara told him, gesturing around the room. Yes, they had made a mess and yes, he worried about her. She was a young woman living on her own in the middle of nowhere.

John uttered a soft laugh. “Honestly, I can't imagine anyone who would be, but-”

“What if the burglar comes back?” she demanded to know. Still, John couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn't at all scared about it.

“How did he even get in? The front door? A window?” John asked when he realised he didn't even know the answer to one of the most important questions.

Clara nodded towards the front door. “They picked the lock. I found it ajar when I got home, but you have to tell me,” she pressed, her voice urgent. “Do you think they might come back?”

From experience, John knew that burglars were unlikely to strike twice in the same spot, but this wasn't an ordinary case, was it? If it was connected to the dead woman, Clara might be in danger and he would never forgive himself if anything happened to her. When he looked up, he found Clara staring straight at him and once more, he saw anger in her eyes, even hostility. Who was she and what had made her come to Scotland? The questions suddenly popped up in his head and it frustrated him that she might never tell him the answers.

“Can I suggest something?” her friend Amy suddenly threw in. She stepped a little closer and finally put the stack of papers aside. “I can't stay here tonight cause I've got to fly to Edinburgh in the morning, but you should definitely not be on your own.”

Amy Williams turned her head towards John. “You said you didn't know whether the burglar might come back and I won't leave Clara alone as long as I know that that could happen. Someone from the police should stay here overnight.”

“Okay, that's really not necessary,” Clara objected immediately. “I just need a new lock, that's all.”

“Well, you're not going to get a new lock tonight. The hardware shop closed an hour ago,” her friend argued.

“I agree with her,” John found himself saying before he could think better of it. A part of him really didn't want to challenge Clara, but he couldn't help but think that her friend was right. “I'll call the station and have someone post an officer in front of your house.”

Clara raised her hands in a surrendering gesture and uttered a laugh. “You two are blowing things completely out of proportion. We have no idea who broke in here and what they wanted. Maybe it was a prank by one of the schoolkids.”

“Or maybe it was the person who murdered Jane Doe, as you yourself pointed out,” John stated plainly. “I'm not taking that risk. I'll call the station.”

“There's no need, is there?” Amy remarked and nodded towards John. “I mean, you're already here.”

“Amy, no-” Clara tried to protest before John cut her off.

“Yes,” he agreed. “That's an excellent idea.”

The look Clara Oswald threw him next could almost be described as deadly and even though she would probably survive the night, he might not. But it was perfect, wasn't it? Clara would be safe and he had a chance to ask her all the questions that have been on his mind for days.

“I won't take no for an answer,” John insisted. “I'll stay and keep an eye out for burglars.”

For a moment, he thought that Clara would protest further or throw him out, but to his surprise, she merely shrugged in response. “Fine,” she hissed. “But I'm warning you. The sofa is terribly uncomfortable.”

John figured that it was a fair price to pay for her safety and the chance of finally having a decent conversation with her.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the sweet comments and sorry to keep you waiting for this chapter!

Clara wasn't entirely certain whether she should be grateful or annoyed because, on the one hand, she was touched that John Smith would spend the night on her uncomfortable sofa just to protect her. On the other hand, however, she would rather be alone. After leaving a bowl of water on the floor for Odin, she grabbed the bowls of soup she had prepared and headed back to the living room where the detective was already waiting, stroking his dog's fur absent-mindedly while looking around the room.

“Excuse the mess, DI Smith,” Clara said, “but my burglar obviously didn't feel like cleaning up after himself.”

John Smith chuckled. “Please, call me John,” he told her when she handed him the bowl of soup. “And thank you.”

“Alright,” she replied as she sank down on the chair across the table. “I think you've earned the first-name basis. After all, you're going to die first if the burglar decides to come back and turns out to be a killer.”

Again, he chuckled and Clara thought that the smile suited him. Somehow, it made him look boyish even though he was in his fifties. It made him look friendly, trustworthy. Could she trust him?

The dog plopped down next to the sofa with a sighing sound, obviously content to sleep on any carpet as long as his owner was close by and Clara lowered her gaze, trying to find the right words to thank him.

“I know I said it wasn't necessary for you to stay, but still, thank you,” she said quietly. She hated to admit that she was scared and she was, at least a little because, if she was completely honest, she didn't have a single doubt that the burglary was connected to the murder of the unknown woman. Clara just knew it. However, she couldn't quite believe that she was in imminent danger. “I know it's not exactly in your job description to babysit me.”

When Clara raised her head again, she found that John was looking at her intently as if he was somehow trying to read her thoughts. Suddenly, it made her feel a little smaller, a little bit more insecure to be under his scrutiny.

“You didn't give off the impression that you actually want me here,” he remarked and he sounded a little hurt. “In fact, you're usually quite hostile.”

“I'm not hostile!” Clara argued instantly, her voice sharp. When she noticed it, she realised that he might be right, at least partially. After a deep breath, Clara continued. “I'm sorry. It's just… I prefer to be alone, that's all.”

“Why?” John asked bluntly.

Clara squinted her eyes at him and the brief fondness she had felt for him earlier when he had laughed evaporated. “You're quite nosy, aren't you?”

To her surprise, he chuckled again, the boyish smile was back. Clara really wasn't sure whether she should like him or not. “That _is_ part of my job description,” John explained. “What kind of detective would I be if I didn't ask questions?”

“True, but it makes me feel like I'm a suspect in your investigation,” she countered.

He hesitated for a moment too long and it really didn't help the feeling that he _was_ investigating her. But she wasn't actually a suspect, was she? Why would she assume he suspected her of anything?

“Or maybe I'm just trying to get to know my new neighbour?” John suggested after a while. “I mean, I assume you don’t have any closets full of skeletons that you would want to hide from the police?”

Clara sighed. He had no idea. “No,” she replied. “I don't. I'm just not really a sociable person.”

Not knowing what else to say, Clara decided to focus on the bowl of soup she was holding and when she tried it, she realised that it was finally cool enough to eat. John followed her example and for a moment, they ate in silence until Odin started to notice that they were eating. The dog got up again and sat right in front of Clara, giving her puppy dog eyes.

“That's soup, Odin,” John reminded his pet. “You won't like it.”

“Isn't he hungry?” Clara wanted to know. She would hate for the dog to starve just because John had decided to stay overnight for her protection. “I don't have any dog food.”

“It's fine,” he reassured her. “I fed him after I got home from work. He just can't help the begging.”

Clara smiled at the dog in front of her and ate another spoonful of soup. “Nice try, Odin,” she remarked. “But unsuccessful.”

They continued to eat and eventually, the dog gave up and lay back down. It took only a minute before he started snoring.

“So, um,” John began after a while, “do you want to answer my question?”

When she looked up, Clara thought that John seemed almost shy. He was curious, but somehow, Clara doubted that his curiosity had anything to do with the case. He was interested in _her_. So Clara inhaled deeply and considered her options. How bad could it be if she told him at least part of her story?

“I'm from London,” she started to explain. “And I was tired of it. I mean, I looked out of the window and just saw other buildings and people and cars and when I went out, I couldn't take a step without running into another person.”

“So you moved to the loneliest spot you could find?” John enquired.

“It wasn't planned, I just needed a change,” Clara said. “I really, really needed one badly. My grandma died a few years ago and she left me some money and I knew she wanted me to use it for a nicer flat or a house, so I started looking for one. I found this.”

Some days, Clara wondered if her grandmother would approve. She wondered what her grandmother would say to her now.

“I never wanted to come back,” John suddenly admitted, scoffing softly. “I moved to London as soon as I could and I didn't think I'd ever be back on this damned island.”

Clara looked at him for a long moment, but John's eyes were fixed on the bowl of soup in his hands. Yet she couldn't shake the feeling that there was something sad about him right now, something lonely and maybe even desperate. It occurred to her that they might have more in common than she had originally thought and Clara decided to throw her doubts overboard. After all, she had let Amy into her life. There was room for one more person, right? There was no harm to that.

“Why did you come back?” she wanted to know.

John looked up, straight at her. “Kate Stewart called me and told me that my father was dying. You know, we didn't have the most intimate relationship, it was nothing that went past the obligatory phone call on Christmas. I had always hoped that one day, I would visit him, that I would bring my wife and children and I would tell him I was a successful detective in London, that his doubts about me had been unfounded,” he told her. “I hesitated to come back because I knew I would be a failure in his eyes and when I did get back, it was too late. Now I'm stuck here with his job, his house, and Odin.”

She contemplated his words for a long moment and Clara appreciated his honesty even though she wasn't ready to return it, but it meant a lot to her that a virtual stranger would trust her with such a story.

“I'm sorry,” she replied simply, not knowing what else to say. “I didn't know your father very well, but I don't think it would have mattered to him that you didn't live up to his expectations.”

To her surprise, John started to laugh. “That's the thing, isn't it? I lived up to his expectations. A failure, an average detective, a widower. That's about what he thought I'd be.”

“A widower?” Clara couldn't help but ask.

Suddenly, John made a dismissive gesture. “I should just stop giving a shit. He's six feet under and I'm still here and I will redecorate his house in a way that he would absolutely hate and there's nothing he can do about it,” he said determinedly and the sudden change of tone made Clara laugh. When was the last time she had laughed? Properly laughed? At last, she had made up her mind. She liked DI John Smith and not just because they had a lot in common.

“That's the spirit,” she told him. “He was a Celts fan, wasn't he?”

“Oh, yes,” John agreed.

“Mhhh,” Clara hummed as she considered something. “How about you put up posters of other football teams? How about Arsenal?”

He laughed at her in response. “I think that might be one of the things that would make him rise from his grave to personally tear them back down.”

“Maybe not put up posters then,” she suggested, chuckling. Then, she thought of something. “Would you like a beer? Or is that against the _no drinking on duty_ rule?”

In return, John raised his eyebrows at her and like that, they looked quite impressive – or intimidating, depending on whether he used them in a conversation or an interrogation. “You're being surprisingly nice.”

Clara chuckled at him. “No, I'd just like a glass of wine and it would be rude not to offer you something as well.”

“Well, in that case,” John replied, smiling, “I suppose it would be rude to decline? And, strictly speaking, I'm not on duty.”

Clara smiled at him in return before she rose from her chair and went back into the kitchen, knowing that it had been the right decision to let him stay. She felt safer with him present and for some reason, it felt good to talk to someone who wasn't Amy. Maybe she should do it more often.


	14. Chapter 14

Clara felt surprisingly good about herself, given the circumstances. Of course, there was still the matter of the dead woman and the recent break-in at her house, but somehow, she felt like it was going to be okay. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time she had felt like that. Up to this point, her life had been a sequence of one bad incident after another, but now she was confident that eventually, she would have peace. Not now, not in the next few weeks, but maybe months or years and she felt like that because of John Smith and the kindness he had shown her. John, a complete stranger, had spent the night on her sofa just to protect her from a burglar who fortunately hadn't come back and they had talked for a long time. It wasn't even the fact that he had shared his personal feelings with her, but the simple act of just having a conversation with someone she didn't know. Clara had been on this island for six months and she had only made one friend. John had made her realise that what she had been feeling was loneliness and at the same time, he had lifted it a little. But for now, Clara had issues to focus on other than her loneliness.

The police had stopped by in the morning, investigating the scene of the crime, taking prints off several surfaces and door handles and Clara hoped that there would be others besides her own. They had also advised her to change the lock which was why Clara found herself at the hardware shop after work. It occurred to her that maybe she should have asked Amy to bring her a new lock back from the mainland because as soon as she walked into the shop, she realised that it was a lot smaller than the ones she had visited in London. With a sigh, she accepted the fact that it was too late to ask Amy for help and walked up to the front desk.

“Hello, how can I help you?” a middle-aged woman behind the counter asked, flashing her a bright, fake smile which she probably used for every customer.

“Hi, um,” Clara greeted her, “I'm looking for a new lock. For a front door. Preferably one that can't be picked.”

The woman laughed. “An unpickable lock, huh? Sure, I think you'll find that in the aisle with the energy-creating lightbulbs and the screwdriver suitable for all sizes of screws.”

Clara glared at her in response to her rather unfunny joke and while she was still looking for a decent comeback, another person stepped in and interrupted her thoughts.

“I'm sorry to bother you, but isn't it your job to help your customers, not make fun of them?” the young man asked, looking straight at the woman behind the counter.

Clara smiled when she spotted the man next to her and she felt like congratulating him on his response. The man looked a few years younger than herself and the lack of an accent told her that he wasn't from around here either, not originally. Then, he turned towards Clara.

“I know a couple of things about locks,” he explained. “I doubt we'll find one that is unpickable in this shop, but I'm sure they have a few good ones. Want me to take a look?”

Yesterday, Clara would have turned him down because she was an independent woman who didn't need any help and could manage on her own, but if the last 24 hours had proven anything, it was that accepting help wasn't as bad as she had initially thought. So she smiled at him in response.

“That would be nice, thanks,” she replied happily. “I'm afraid I don't know much about locks.”

“Alright,” the man said and gestured towards the aisles. “Follow me.”

He seemed to know exactly where he was going as if he already knew the shop by heart and in her mind, Clara pictured him moving here and constantly running to the shop to get something for his new house. He couldn't have lived here for very long because he had an accent, but it wasn't a local one.

“Do you have someone to install it for you?”

Clara turned her head and looked at him, suddenly realising that she had trailed off and didn't have a clue what he was talking about. “I'm sorry, what?”

The man chuckled. “The lock. I assume you don't want to put it on a shelf as décor.”

“Oh, that,” Clara replied and uttered a short laugh. “No, um, I'll ask my friend's husband. He always fixes stuff around my house in exchange for a soufflé or two because my friend can't cook.”

“That's a very clever ruse,” the man remarked, the amusement audible in his voice. He came to a halt in front of a shelf and when Clara turned to look, she noticed that they had found what they had been looking for.

“Well, those are… locks,” she noted. “Lots of them.”

“Well spotted,” he congratulated her. “How secure do you want it to be?”

Clara took a deep breath and inspected the selection. The price range seemed to vary a lot and she wasn't exactly sure how much to spend on a simple lock. “I would like to make it less easy for burglars,” Clara said eventually. “Is there something that can do that?”

The man laughed. “This is Scotland. Don't people usually leave their doors unlocked here? I doubt you'll have burglar problems.”

“Oh, I wish that were true,” she muttered under her breath.

“What? You had a break-in?”

Clara turned her head and looked at the man once more. For a brief moment, she wondered whether it was actually smart to tell him. After all, she had spent six months without really talking to anyone. But he was nice, wasn't he? And he was helping her choosing a lock. “Yesterday,” she replied and gestured towards the shelf. “Hence the new lock.”

“Oh, alright,” the man said and suddenly, Clara took a step back. It wasn't anything he had said or how he had said it, but for a brief moment, she noticed a strange look on his face that was somewhere between mischievous and amused and she decided to put some distance between them until she had figured out what was amusing about a burglary.

“I hope they didn't steal anything important?” he asked and his voice sounded as if he already knew. In fact, the longer Clara paid attention, the more details about him bothered her. She blinked a couple of times, trying to take in his looks, his accent, his posture, his entire presence and the longer she looked, the more he frightened her.

“No, um, they didn't,” Clara said absent-mindedly and she hoped that her sudden nervousness didn't show. “So, well, what's your name? You've never introduced yourself.”

She was stammering now and every cell in her body told her to run away. It could be a coincidence, he could be a random, nice man who just wanted to help her out. But if he wasn't, what did he want? Was she in danger?

“My name's Ciaran,” he explained and when he turned around, he was smiling at her. It seemed so sincere and honest and it frightened her to her core as his name resounded in her head. “And yours?”

Not knowing what else to do, Clara looked at her watch. She was in desperate need of an excuse to get as far away from him as possible. “Oh, is that the time?” she spluttered nervously. “I'm afraid I have to go.”

Without waiting for his response, Clara spun around and headed towards the exit. She only vaguely heard him call after her, asking about the lock, but the blood was pounding in her ears and that was the only sound that mattered to her right now.

As she started her motorcycle, Clara knew that there was only one place she could go, only one person she could trust with this and she dearly hoped that she wasn't underestimating him. Suddenly, it was as clear as day in her mind. Straight out of nowhere, it had just popped into her head and she knew what she needed to do.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *excited noises* Thank you so much for the lovely comments, guys!!!! Things are heating up now with the break-in and the creepy journalist, so let's have a look at John's conclusion of the events...

The lead was hanging around his neck, Odin was begging next to him and John was ready to go for a walk. He hadn't actually thought it possible, but by now, he found himself looking forward to taking his dog out every single day. There was something calming about roaming the landscape while Odin chased his sticks and went after rabbits and it had turned into a lovely daily habit – the perfect way to clear his head. Yet as John opened his front door, he found himself staring into the surprised face of Clara Oswald who had just been about to knock.

“Oh,” John uttered in surprise. Odin dashed past him and out into the front garden. “I didn't expect to see you.”

“Can we talk?” Clara asked, panting frantically as if she had just stopped after a run. Yet her motorcycle was parked right in front of his gate. “Please, it's important. I think.”

He had never been the best at reading people's emotions or telling someone's mood, but it didn't take a genius to know that Clara Oswald was troubled. Whatever had happened today, whatever she had come to talk to him about, it was important to her and it scared her for some reason. However, John's eyes wandered to the excited dog already jumping up and down next to the gate.

“Um, do you want to come inside?” John asked. “Or walk with us for a bit? I was just about to take Odin out.”

Clara turned around and obviously spotted the dog's mood because the next thing he heard from her was approval. “Sure, walk sounds good,” she agreed, still sounding a little breathless.

“Really?” he enquired cautiously just to be certain. “You seem… well, in a bit of a state.”

In response, Clara nodded. “Walk is fine,” she confirmed determinedly. “I'll catch my breath in a minute.”

When Clara didn't give off the impression that she was going to change her mind, John closed the door behind him and crossed the front yard until he could open the gate. Odin darted outside, eagerly sniffing around the wet grass to see what other dogs might have passed the house during the course of the day.

As they headed away from the house, John waited for Clara to start talking, but he didn't want to press the matter. Obviously, something had happened to frighten or worry her and he assumed that she still needed a moment to catch her breath or gather her thoughts. She would tell him once she was ready. In the meantime, he decided to just enjoy her company and the fact that he didn't have to walk alone. The weather was nice for once: no rain, but no sun either. Just an ordinary, mild winter day and the air smelled fresh and clean, the breeze carrying the salty scent of the sea across the fields.

“Something strange happened today,” Clara began after a while.

John turned his head and looked at her, but she didn't meet his gaze. Instead, she seemed to find her own shoes rather interesting. “Something to do with the break-in?” he asked. “Did the burglar come back?”

She shook her head. “No, nothing like that. The police came by this morning, took some prints, told me to get a new lock, so I went to the hardware shop after work.”

“Hope you picked a good one,” he remarked for lack of anything else to say. He _did_ hope that Clara had chosen a good one, one that would deter any future attempt at burglary. Above all else, John wanted her to be safe.

“I didn't pick anything,” she replied. “When I went into the shop, there was this guy and he was acting pretty strange. I know, I probably sound crazy or paranoid or both, but he just gave me the creeps.”

John shrugged his shoulders even though Clara wasn’t looking at him. “You're a young woman living on your own and someone just broke into your home. I think it's natural for you to be cautious right now.”

Finally, Clara turned her head and he was surprised to see her smile. “Thanks,” she replied sincerely. Somehow, that smile made his heart skip a little beat.

“Why don't you tell me about the creepy guy?” he suggested before his thoughts had any further chance to trail off. This wasn't the right moment to think about how pretty she looked when she smiled.

Clara exhaled sharply and she turned her head to stare into the distance. Slowly, they continued their walk. “He was really nice at first. I mean, the woman who works there really wasn't helpful and the guy stepped in and offered his help, said he knew a thing or two about locks,” she began to explain and then paused for a moment. “Now that I think about it, even that part was strange. He was right there when I walked into the shop and didn't hesitate for a second to offer to help me out.”

“He could've just overheard you and, well, decided to say hi,” John argued because it didn't seem strange to him at all, at least not that part. He, too, had jumped at the opportunity to help Clara out. It was just one of those things men did when they saw a pretty face.

“I know, but it gets stranger,” Clara warned him as she continued her story. “So, he said he'd help me find a new lock, asked what I wanted to spend, asked what I needed it for and when the topic of the break-in came up, he _smirked_.”

His eyebrows shot up in disbelief. “He smirked?”

“Yes,” Clara replied sharply. She stopped and her head turned to look at him. From looking at her face, John didn't have a single doubt that it really was what had happened. “He looked like he somehow found it amusing or already _knew_ about it.”

Even though he had expected a rather different story after seeing Clara so upset, John couldn't help but admit that it was a little strange and possibly not in a good way. He couldn't even come up with a decent explanation for it other than the ones Clara had already provided. If he found a break-in amusing, he was a creep. If he knew about it, he was probably the one who did it. Either way, he decided to dig a little deeper.

“Can you describe him?” John wanted to know.

In response, Clara blew the air out between her teeth. “Phew, I don't know. After that, I just fled the shop, but he was around thirty, I think, maybe a few years younger. No Scottish accent, so he's probably not from here originally. About your height. Red-brown hair and-”

“And a terrible beard?” John finished her sentence before Clara had the chance and her eyes widened in an instant. By now, he was even less certain about what he was supposed to make of it because she had just described a man he had met a few days ago to a T. The young man at the café who had seemed more than prepared for spilling his coffee on John's shirt. He had also seemed prepared to meet Clara at the hardware shop and by now, John refused to believe that it was a simple coincidence.

“He introduced himself, said his name was Ciaran,” Clara went on, looking straight at him. “You know him, don't you? How else would you know about the beard?”

John wasn't the type to remember the face of every person he met, but that man had left an impression, especially because after their encounter, John had had to walk around with a stained shirt for the rest of the day. “I ran into him at a café a few days ago. He poured his coffee over my shirt and then went on to ask me some questions. I figured he was a journalist who was trying to get information on the case, so I ignored him.”

“You didn't tell him anything, did you?” she wanted to know, suddenly sounding a little more frightened again. “About me?”

“Absolutely not!” John replied instantly. How could she even think such a thing? “I would never give away details about the case, especially not ones that involve you.”

Clara looked at him for a long moment and eventually, she decided to believe him. “Alright,” she said with a sigh. “So, he's a journalist? Just someone looking for a story? He's not dangerous?”

John knew that he couldn't promise her that, he knew that it should be impossible for him to know about the break-in unless someone from the police station had talked. He would have a chat with Kate about the matter as soon as possible. “I'll look into it,” he promised her instead. “But I don't want you to worry unnecessarily. Change the lock on your door, that should be enough. Okay?”

After a moment of hesitation, she nodded.

“I'll let you know as soon as I've found out more, but I really do think he's just a nosy journalist.”

“Okay,” Clara breathed in reply and finally, she seemed relieved. At last, she was calming down.

“And if anything happens, if anything seems weird, call your friend or me and I'll be right there, okay?” 

John looked at her closely and suddenly, he could see a smile spread across her face. “Are the police in Scotland really taking things that seriously or is this some kind of special service for single women who get scared easily?”

If Osgood was here with them right now, she would have taken great pride in pointing out that he was blushing because this time, there was no doubt that he was. Clara had caught him in his intentions, no matter how noble they were.

“Oh, that's, um-”

Clara chuckled, interrupting his sentence which he hadn't known how to finish anyway. “I was just teasing,” she said with a smile. “And I really appreciate it. Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” he replied and turned to look at his dog who was chasing a leaf across the field and he decided to continue their walk.

However, he was suddenly reminded of one little fact that he kept forgetting about whenever he was talking to Clara Oswald. It was the note he had found in the dead woman's pocket, the one with Clara's name and address on it and even though he really wanted to believe that she had nothing to do with any of it, that she was just an innocent woman had who ended up in the middle of things purely by chance, he still kept wondering what her part in all of this really was.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind words in the comments :) But between all the suspense, how about we give Clara a moment to breathe and consider a few other things?

“Rory!” Amy shouted out into the hall. “How's the lock coming along? Your soufflé's getting cold!”

Clara watched her friend as she instantly turned her attention back towards the dessert on her plate and continued to eat while she waited for her husband's response. Clara hadn't touched her food and she was beginning to feel a little guilty because she had made Rory buy her a lock and dragged her friends here so late in the evening just because she was scared.

“Almost done!” Rory called back. “Couple more minutes!”

“Hurry up!” Amy urged him and when she looked at Clara, her friend seemed to notice that her own soufflé was still untouched. “Why aren't you eating?”

Clara shrugged in response. “I'm not really hungry. I've had a weird day,” she explained with a heavy sigh. The strange encounter at the hardware shop was still on her mind and even though she was still hoping that she was wrong, Clara knew that it was unlikely, especially if John had already run into him as well. But she had pushed him in the right direction and he had promised her to look into it. Right now, all she could do was to hope that he would find something.

“You really didn't have to go through all that trouble with the soufflés, you know? Rory would have fixed your lock regardless,” Amy said after a while, tearing her out of her thoughts. “Or I would've made him fix it.”

Clara smiled at her friend, but even though she couldn't see herself, she knew that it must look tired. “I don't mind,” she explained. “Baking distracts me.”

In a swift movement, Amy put down her spoon and leaned forward a little, looking straight at Clara in a manner that suddenly frightened her. “Because of the creepy guy at the hardware shop?” her friend wanted to know, raising her eyebrows.

In response, Clara uttered a sigh. “Not just that,” she replied. “John met him a few days ago, thought he was a nosy journalist. I'm not so sure about that.”

“John?”

“Yeah, you know, John Smith, the detective,” she explained, surprised that she even had to elaborate at all. It was Amy who had suggested he should guard her, so she should know that they had talked.

However, the response Clara received wasn't the one she had expected. “John, huh? You're on a first-name basis now?” her friend asked curiously, a smirk on her lips. Clara was ready to roll her eyes because, whatever her friend was insinuating, it certainly wasn't like that.

“He spent the night on my sofa, we talked, would've been weird to keep calling him Detective Inspector Smith after I made him dinner,” Clara argued.

Amy chuckled. “You made him dinner?”

“Soup,” she replied. “And of course. It would have been slightly rude not to offer him something while eating right next to him.”

Still, the strange smile just wouldn't fade from Amy's face. “You know he's carrying a torch for you, right?” her friend asked, the amusement plain in her voice.

“Don't be ridiculous,” Clara remarked, scoffing at her. That was the most ludicrous thing she had heard all week and she had heard a lot of really strange things after everything that had happened. “Also, _carry a torch_? Are we still in the fifties? Seriously, if you used that sentence in front of my students, I'm fairly certain they wouldn't know what you were talking about.”

“Yeah, but you know _exactly_ what I'm talking about, so don't change the subject,” Amy teased her.

Not knowing how else to make her friend understand, Clara uttered a growl. “John is not _carrying a torch_ for me, alright? He's a detective who takes his job very seriously, that's all.”

Amy opened her mouth to reply but was cut off when Rory entered the kitchen, and Clara was grateful for the interruption. She didn't seriously think that John was into her even though there had been a couple of signs. Still, Clara thought he was too much of a professional for anything more than concern for a neighbour he was friendly with.

“Finished,” Rory announced when he came to a halt next to the table. “Congratulations, you've got a new, very expensive, very difficult lock and by difficult I mean it was not a pleasure to install.”

“Thank you, Rory,” Clara said sincerely, offering him a grateful smile. “What would I do without friends like you?”

“Rory, could you please double-check if everything's working?” Amy asked to Clara's surprise. She was fairly certain that Rory had made sure everything was in order.

“I already-”

“Please, check it again,” Amy insisted, interrupting him and by now, Clara knew what was going on and she dreaded the conversation that was to follow.

When Rory left the kitchen to check on the lock, her friend turned towards Clara once again and gave her _that look_ , the one that left her with little doubt she was going to hear something she didn't want to hear.

“Clara, you're allowed to get your life back at some point,” Amy said.

“I know that and that's exactly what I'm doing,” Clara argued. “Building a new life right here.”

Amy furrowed her brows. “Really? Cause it looks to me like you're hiding from the world. I know what happened with Danny hit you hard and I get that. I wouldn't even know what I'd do if I lost Rory-”

“Is that why you sent him out of the room? So he wouldn't hear?” she growled.

“No, because this isn't about me, it's about you,” her friend insisted. “When are you going to get back in the game?”

Now, Clara really rolled her eyes. She had had that conversation with her old friends in London, the ones who had never been able to understand why moving on wasn't as easy as they thought, who had never even heard the whole story. For a moment, Clara considered telling Amy the truth, the _whole_ truth, but she was afraid that it would do more damage than good.

“My fiancé died, yes,” Clara replied sharply. “I'm not over it. I will be, at some point, but that isn't now.”

Clara still had to take care of some things, things Amy would never be able to understand.

“And before you tell me about how John has a crush on me, which isn't true, may I remind you that it would be a stupid idea to start something with the man who lives across the field, the man who is leading the police investigation into the death of a woman who looks just like me, the man I will keep running into no matter where I go because we're on an island… just because I want to get back in the game?”

Amy shrugged. “Point taken,” she remarked. Then the smirk was back. “However, I find it interesting that you chose not to mention his age or his looks or the fact that you can't imagine fancying him.”

“Okay, I think this conversation is leading nowhere,” Clara barked at her friend and then turned towards the door to shout: “Rory, come back! I'm sure the lock is perfectly fine!”

The disappointment was visible on Amy's face when their girl talk came to an abrupt end, but Clara really wasn't in the mood to continue their conversation. Maybe Amy would understand if she knew what had happened to Danny, maybe she would realise why Clara couldn't let it go and move on as easily as she would have liked, but Amy couldn't ever know the truth.

However, when her friends had left and Clara tried to push aside every thought about the fact that she was on her own and feeling exposed and unprotected despite the new lock, Clara considered something else Amy had said. Did John have a crush on her? Yes, he liked her, Clara was certain of that and she liked him back, but if there was more, Clara wasn't sure whether it would be a blessing or a curse.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the lovely comments :D How about we dig a little deeper into the story now?

John had waited for Kate Stewart to arrive at the station for what felt like an eternity and when she finally walked past his office, he jumped up from his seat in an instant and followed her into the corridor. The sooner he talked to her the better.

“Kate!” he called after her as he followed at a quick pace.

His boss turned on the spot and looked around for a moment until she spotted him as he ran after her. “Let me guess,” she replied, “it's about the Jane Doe case?”

John shrugged his shoulders and granted her an apologetic smile. “What else could it be about? It's not like there's a lot happening in this place.”

Kate raised her eyebrows at him, but after a moment, she gave an approving nod. “You have a point,” she agreed. “So, what is it? Did some exciting new evidence turn up?”

Instantly, John's mind wandered to the little evidence bag hidden away in the drawer of his bedside table, the one that contained the note with Clara's address. He would hand it in eventually, but now was not the time for that. They had a more urgent lead to follow. “Unfortunately, no,” John lied. “Can we talk in your office?”

In reply, Kate gestured towards the door to her left and they both stepped into the large, bright office that looked so much more comfortable than his own. A part of him envied his boss for it until he remembered that he hated to spend time indoors anyway. John always preferred to be out there where the action was happening instead of hiding behind a desk. That was one thing he had inherited from his father.

“So, what do you want to talk to me about?” Kate asked him as she closed the door behind them. “Did another witness turn up? A new lead?”

“Um,” John hesitated and raised his hand. He scratched his head and glanced towards Kate in the most sheepish way possible. “Maybe. I think.”

Just because Clara thought that it was suspicious and John agreed with her didn't mean that his boss would share their opinion. In fact, now that he was about to tell her, the entire story suddenly sounded silly in his head. But what kind of detective would he be if he ignored the fears and doubts of a young woman that he had sworn to protect?

“Out with it,” Kate demanded, throwing him a stern look. “If you think there's something I need to know, I want to know about it.”

John inhaled deeply before he began to explain and decided to start at the very beginning. “Okay, remember a few days ago when I was late to work?” he asked and waited for Kate's reassuring nod before he continued. “I told you I had run into a journalist who had asked me questions about the Jane Doe case.”

“Yeah,” she replied. “And?”

The rest of the story came out in a rush. John reminded her of the break-in at Clara Oswald's house, he told her about her encounter with the journalist – if that was really what he was – and how strange it had seemed to Clara when she had realised that he seemed to know about the break-in already. He knew that all of that could be a strange coincidence, that the man could really be just a journalist on the hunt for a story, but if there was any chance that he wasn't, Clara could be in danger and he would not allow anything to happen to her.

“So you're saying that this... _journalist_ is actually the man who broke into Clara Oswald's home?” Kate asked, her eyebrows furrowed at him in disbelief. She didn't think there was anything to it.

“I don't know,” John admitted. “But it's strange and I think we should look into it. I mean, even if he really is just a journalist, there was no way he could have already known about the break-in unless he was lurking near her house when it happened. If he's a journalist, he has someone on the inside who passes him the information. The possibility of that alone is enough reason to look into it.”

At last, Kate seemed to actually consider his words because the idea of a mole within the police was not one that appealed to her. In the long run, it could compromise an important investigation. After a moment, she sighed. “Alright,” she remarked. “Do we have a name?”

“Only a first name,” John explained. “Ciaran.”

“Sounds Irish.”

“It does,” he confirmed. “And he's certainly not from around here. He doesn't even have a hint of a Scottish accent.”

To his surprise, Kate didn't respond at all. Instead, she sank down in her office chair and buried her face in her hands. She rubbed her eyes for a while as if she was tired even though their shift had only just started. John already considered a retreat to leave Kate to her thoughts when she removed her hands again and looked straight at him.

“Why is Clara Oswald in the middle of this?” she wanted to know. “Is it her resemblance to the dead woman? Is there another connection that we're just not seeing?”

Again, John thought about the note, but he couldn't bring himself to believe that it had anything to do with the murder.

“As crazy as it sounds, is Clara responsible for that woman's death?”

“No,” John replied immediately.

Kate leaned forward and squinted her eyes at him. “How can you be so sure? I've known her for six months and I honestly believe I don't know her at all. You met her less than two weeks ago. How can you possibly rule out that she had something to do with it?”

That was the thing. John couldn't, but he also couldn't bring himself to believe that Clara was a murderer. “I just know, okay?” he replied and realised that he sounded angrier than he had anticipated. “When she came to see me yesterday, she was terrified after the encounter with the journalist or whatever the hell he is.”

Kate didn't seem convinced because the frown on her face only deepened.

“Okay, maybe she does know something,” John spat in despair. “Maybe she saw something or… I don't know, but you can't ignore the fact that this man scared her and that someone broke into her home. We have to look into it. If she had nothing to do with the woman's death, she could be next. Has that ever crossed your mind?”

His boss was about to open her mouth and respond when suddenly, a knock on the door cut her off and instead of answering him, she told whoever was outside to come in. John spun around and watched Osgood walk into the room, looking both nervous and excited at the same time.

“Oh, good,” the young pathologist breathed and smiled into the room. “You're both here.”

“Do you have any news?” Kate demanded instantly, her eyes suddenly more alert.

John exchanged looks between her and Osgood and finally nodded towards the young woman, telling her to continue. He was curious and, at the same time, afraid of what she had dug up.

“Okay, so,” Osgood started, but she paused to take another breath before she went on. She really was excited by whatever she had uncovered. “The DNA test came back. You know, the one where we compared Jane Doe's DNA to the one from that teacher who was here? The nervous one?”

Osgood had some cheek calling Clara _the nervous one_ , but John didn't have time for her stalling right now. He needed to know what the test said. “What was the result?” he asked instantly.

The pathologist smiled at both of them. “I have to admit, I really didn't expect it,” she said breathlessly. “I mean, I feel like we're in the middle of a crime novel, this is-”

“Osgood,” Kate interrupted her sharply. “What is the result?”

When John had hoped that she would finally come out with it, Osgood disappointed him once again when she reached into the pocket of her lab coat and pulled out an inhaler that she used to take a deep breath from. He had run out of patience at last and stepped forward, tearing the letter out of Osgood's hand. Unfolding it took what felt like an insanely long time before he finally read the words on the sheet of paper and instantly, he knew that he would have to talk to Clara Oswald as soon as possible.

“Well?” Kate demanded. “What does it say?”


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your awesome comments! :D I'm glad you're still here and paying attention. Now, what is the result of the DNA test?

The pile of marking on her table was an obvious reminder that Clara had postponed her schoolwork for much too long and there was no way she could put it off any longer. In between the discovery of the dead woman and the break-in, Clara just hadn't had the energy to focus on her students' papers on Macbeth. Yet just when she was about to sit down with the first essay, Clara heard the doorbell ring. For a moment, she considered ignoring it, but the knock soon followed along with John Smith's voice.

“Clara, are you home?” he called through the door. “I need to talk to you.”

It was the gravity of his voice that gave it away, the reason why he had come here. As Clara rose from her sofa and approached the door, she knew what it would be about and she used the last remaining seconds alone to prepare herself for the news.

* * *

John granted her an apologetic smile when she opened the door because when he spotted the cosy trousers and oversized jumper, he knew that he had interrupted her. Yet after looking at him, Clara glanced past John and eventually frowned.

“If your plan was to go for a walk, I think you forgot your dog,” she joked.

He chuckled softly, but quickly reminded himself that he had come here because of a rather more serious matter. “I, um, I actually came to talk to you,” he replied cautiously. “Can I come in for a moment?”

“Sure,” Clara said and in response, she held the door open a little wider, but John could tell from her voice that she already had an inkling it wouldn't be an entirely pleasant conversation.

Once inside, Clara quickly excused herself, promising him a cup of tea and telling John to make himself comfortable while he walked through to the living room. As he sank down on the sofa, John once again noticed how much he liked Clara's house. It wasn't messy, but it certainly wasn't a museum where everything had its spot and wasn't allowed to be moved. It was so cosy and homely that John couldn't help but like being here. Then his eyes fell on the stack of papers on her coffee table and he picked up the first sheet only to realise that it was obviously a student's essay – and not a particularly good one. Clara had already marked four spelling errors on the first half of the page.

“For the sake of your own sanity, don't read that,” Clara warned him when she walked back into the room. She was carrying two steaming mugs and the faint aroma of tea already filled the air.

John laughed at her remark and put the paper back down as she handed him one of the mugs. “Thank you,” he said sincerely. “And I honestly don't know how you deal with how they butcher the English language.”

“Well, my purpose is to teach them to do better,” Clara explained and sat down in the chair across from him. Initially, John felt a little disappointed and he realised that he had hoped she would sit next to him. What he was about to tell her would be hard to swallow and on the way here, he had pictured himself comforting her. What a silly thought.

“I guess you're right,” he said in reply, smiling weakly. He had to tell her now or the courage might leave him, but before he started, he took a long, deep breath.

“You said you had something to talk to me about?” Clara asked and he watched her blow on her tea to cool it down – a hopeless task when it was still almost boiling.

“Yeah,” he breathed in response. “We received the results of your DNA test.”

There was no point beating around the bush. Clara had a right to know.

She raised her head to look at him, her eyebrows cocked. “Oh? What does it say?”

All the words he had so carefully laid out on his way here suddenly evaporated from his mind and John had no idea where to start, how to say it. He often had to be the bearer of bad news, but the result of the test was on a scale that could shake her whole world. Once more, he breathed in deeply. “Clara, the result is not what I had expected, to be honest,” he explained. “But the test showed that you and Jane Doe are indeed related to each other.”

For a long moment, Clara merely looked at him, blinking a couple of times while the news slowly sank in. Yet even when she appeared to have understood his words, she said nothing, so John decided to continue.

“In fact, according to the test results, there is no doubt that you are identical twins.”

“Twins?” she asked, frowning at him in response. “Are you sure?”

John nodded. “I know this must come as a shock to you, but I have to ask-”

“I had no idea,” Clara replied, cutting him off. “I swear, I didn't know.”

“Alright,” John said softly and he decided to believe her. What else could he do? Call her a liar when she was obviously surprised? When she showed no signs of grief for her sister? “Alright. I know it's hard to swallow.”

To his surprise, Clara scoffed. “My parents had another daughter and they never told me, so, yeah, it is hard to swallow and frankly, hard to believe at all.”

“We can do another test, but I don't think we have to. The resemblance is there. The only other option would have been a doppelganger,” he explained. “And the lab results are usually very reliable.”

For a while, Clara didn't say anything and she didn't look at him. Instead, her eyes wandered around the room while she was obviously trying to come to terms with the news. Again, John regretted not being next to her because he could have taken her hand in an attempt to comfort her.

“Who was she?” Clara wanted to know and now, her eyes were on him. “What was her name? What happened to her? Where did she grow up if not with me?”

“We'll figure it out,” John promised her. They had a lead now, at last. “Now that we know you have the same parents, we'll find out. I'm assuming that she was given up for adoption for whatever reason, so there will be papers. It's going to take a few days, but we'll find out who she was.”

“Will you let me know?” Clara asked.

John smiled at her in response. “Of course,” he said sincerely. “As of now, you're the only known living relative.”

“Well, my dad's still alive,” she argued.

“That would have been my next question,” he said weakly. “If you could give me his phone number or address so we can contact him, that would be very helpful.”

Without a warning, Clara rose from her seat and walked over to the cabinet where she opened a drawer and retrieved a small card. A few seconds later, she handed it to him.

“Your father has a card?” John asked in disbelief as he turned the small piece of paper over in his hand. It was laminated in a manner that wasn't especially sophisticated.

“Dad has a friend who likes to laminate things,” Clara explained as she rolled her eyes. “Don't ask.”

John chuckled softly as he pocketed the card, vowing to call her father first thing in the morning. “I won't,” he promised.

“Who will… take care of her?” Clara asked, taking him by surprise once again.

At first, John didn't quite understand what she was talking about, but Clara quickly went on.

“Jane Doe, whatever her name was,” she explained. “Who’s going to arrange the funeral? I mean, she should have a proper burial, shouldn't she?”

“Absolutely,” John reassured her instantly. “First, we'll have to find out if any of her relatives are still alive. Her adoptive relatives, I mean. Maybe some friends. If we can find them, they should have a say in it.”

In response, Clara nodded slowly, but there was something in her eyes that told him their conversation had come to an end. He rose from his seat, but before he left, John had to make sure that she would be okay. After everything Clara had been through these past few days, he felt bad for leaving her, but he also had a hungry dog waiting for him at home.

“Will you be alright?” he asked carefully.

To his relief, Clara nodded and then granted him a smile. “Of course,” she said. “It's just… you know, a lot. And quite unexpected. I think it's going to take me a few days to actually understand it.”

“Do you want me to stay for a while longer?” he asked hopefully. A part of him was hoping she would say yes.

“There's no need,” Clara replied. “Besides, I know a hungry dog who might tear your furniture apart in despair.”

“Right,” John said, chuckling. “Better get home before that happens. But if you need something, _anything_ , just let me know, alright?”

When Clara nodded, John knew that the moment to leave had come, but as he turned around and started to walk towards the door, he heard Clara's voice once again and it made him turn back around.

“When we first talked, you offered to buy me a cup of coffee,” Clara said and in response, John frowned at her. He remembered the morning he had run into Clara and he remembered that stupid, silly question, but he had hoped that she would have forgotten that embarrassing moment by now in which his mouth had been so much quicker than his brain.

“Yes?” he asked cautiously.

Clara granted him a smile. “Does that offer still stand?”

For a moment, John had no idea what to say.

“Amy and I had a conversation the other day and she wasn't wrong. I do need to get out of the house more often,” she explained with a shrug. “After all that has happened lately, I'd feel safer in the presence of a detective.”

The recent conversation with Kate Stewart came back to his mind as did the note he was hiding in his drawer and John knew that it was possibly a bad idea to go out with a potential suspect. But he knew that Clara would never actually remain a suspect for long and he knew that sharing a conversation over a cup of coffee was all that would happen, so he smiled at her in return.

“Does Saturday sound good to you?” John asked.

The smile that appeared on Clara's face alone was worth it. “Sounds good.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *big group hug for all the commenters* Thank you :)
> 
> And today, John is determined to find out more about Clara's mysterious twin....

The dial tone resounded in his ear and it seemed like an eternity passed before someone on the other end picked up at last. John Smith had never been the most patient person, especially not when the news he was going to deliver would be bad. And this time, they were incredibly bad and he would like to get it over with. Then there was a click on the other end of the line, followed by a careful, male voice.

“Hello? David Oswald speaking?”

John cleared his throat. “Good morning,” he said. “This is Detective Inspector John Smith from the Police Department in Kirkwall.”

“Did something happen to Clara?!” The panic was immediately audible in his voice and he knew that even though they might not be in frequent contact, David Oswald cared about his daughter. “Is she alright?”

“Miss Oswald is perfectly fine, no worries,” John reassured him. “I'm not calling about her, but I'm afraid I don't exactly have good news.”

Clara's father hesitated on the other end and he sounded cautious when he proceeded. “Um, what is it about? She's not in any kind of trouble, is she?”

“It's not about Clara,” he repeated. “It's about your other daughter.”

Another pause. John waited as patiently as he could for David Oswald to continued.

“Does Clara know about her?” he wanted to know, a weariness in his voice that told John he had seen it coming. And he must have. Another daughter was a secret you could only keep for so long.

“I told her yesterday,” John confirmed in a calm manner. “I had to tell her. We found the body of a young woman washed up on the coast. I'm afraid there is no doubt that it's Clara's sister. Your daughter.”

At first, all John could hear was how David Oswald exhaled sharply as if he didn't know what to say.

“I'm sorry,” he said sincerely. “I know it's probably not what you expected to hear.”

“I, uh, I thought about her occasionally. I suppose that's natural,” Clara's father replied gravely. “Even after three decades, you wonder what she's up to, how she's doing, if she's happy. But I didn't expect this, no.”

“We need your help, Mr Oswald,” John said. He knew that the timing was bad, that the father would need his time to grieve, but the police department had a job to do. “I know it's a shock, but it would help if you could answer some questions.”

It was audible when David Oswald sucked his breath in between his teeth. “Of course, anything you want, but I also have questions. How did she-”

“We don't know how she died, not exactly. That's what we're trying to figure out with your help. It could have been an accident or not, but so far, we don't even know her name. What happened after she and Clara were born?”

Again, it took Clara's father a while to respond. “Ellie and I were very young when we met, too young, but we loved each other. When she got pregnant, we knew it would be tough. My job wasn't paying that well at the time and Ellie was still at university, but we were determined to keep the baby and make it work. Then they told us that it was twins.”

“And you decided to give one up for adoption?” John enquired.

“We discussed it for a long time,” David Oswald admitted. “We wanted to keep both, but we figured that one was already more than we could handle. When we met with a social worker for an informal talk, she reassured us that she understood and that they would make sure the baby was given to a good family. It seemed like the most sensible choice for everyone.”

“Don't worry, Mr Oswald, it does sound like you made the reasonable decision.”

“Does it?” he barked. “Maybe if we had kept her, she'd still be alive.”

John sighed and hoped that David Oswald couldn't hear. People blaming themselves for a tragedy was something he was very familiar with, something he himself had gone through once. “You shouldn't think like that,” he said instead. “It can happen to anyone at any given time, but we need to find out what happened to her after you gave her up to understand why she died. Do you still have the papers for the adoption?”

“Of course,” David Oswald replied immediately. “It was a church thing, I think. We followed the recommendation of Ellie's doctor and he put us in contact with a Catholic charity in Blackpool. I can fax you all the papers if you think that would help.”

“That would be very helpful. Thank you, Mr Oswald,” John said sincerely.

After the phone call ended, John stared at the fax machine that had gathered some dust under his predecessor in this office as he waited for the documents to arrive. There was one thing that eased his worry, however, because at last, he seemed to have found a reasonable explanation for the note in Jane Doe's pocket. It was a theory, of course, but a good one. What if Jane Doe had known or found out about the adoption and started looking into her biological family? It seemed like a natural thing to seek out a twin sister after learning of her existence. What if Jane Doe had come to Scotland, Clara's address in her pocket, in the hopes of connecting with her birth family and her sister? It made sense and it explained her presence as well as the note without incriminating Clara, who hadn't even known about the twin until yesterday. 

Yet what had led to her death? If Jane Doe had come here to find her sister, Kate's theory of a suicide made a little less sense because why would she end her own life before getting what she had come here for? An accident seemed likely, but that didn't explain the other strange goings-on with the journalist and the break-in at Clara's house. Was it nothing but a weird coincidence? Or were the events connected in a way John could not yet comprehend?

Suddenly, the fax machine sprang into life and started spitting out page after page that John hurried to gather up in the right order which was proving a little difficult because he was quite eager to read them as they arrived. When the machine finally stopped, he had the chance to take a look and it confirmed what David Oswald had already told him: that a Catholic charity had overseen the adoption and a priest named Douglas Henley had handled the process. If he was still alive, that man would be able to tell John what had happened to Jane Doe after leaving Blackpool, but even if not, the charity would still have the remaining paperwork and her secrets would be uncovered. Somehow, John was going to figure it out, he was certain of it. He was ready to reach for the phone and inquire about Douglas Henley until he remembered that there was something else he needed to do first. Kate Stewart was still his boss and he guessed that she would want to be informed about the developments.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so, so, so, so much for the sweet comments! Yes, part of the mystery has lifted, but there are so many more questions left to answer, aren't there?

Fortunately for Clara, she had almost finished her school work when the phone rang and she answered it to hear her father's voice. She had expected him to call and it came as no surprise to her that he apologised repeatedly and went on to justify himself for something that had happened over thirty years ago. Clara wasn't entirely sure how she felt about the matter, but she wasn’t angry… although nor was she in a particularly forgiving mood.

“You don't sound surprised,” her father noted after a while.

“Well, I was surprised,” she argued gruffly. “Yesterday. When John told me I had a sister which is something I really should've heard from you.”

“I'm sorry,” he said for the twentieth time during the phone call and Clara was growing a little tired of hearing it. By now, she had made peace with the idea that her father had lied to her all her life. Back when her mother had died, they had been so close, but everything had changed the moment her stepmother walked into her life. Now, Clara was content with a phone call on her birthday and at Christmas and she really didn't need the emotional baggage that came with her family. “Your mother and I were young and utterly in over our heads and-”

When the doorbell rang, Clara was glad for the distraction. “I'm sorry, Dad, I'm going to have to call you back, there's someone at the door.”

She hung up once he had said goodbye and walked towards the front door, where she could already make out a familiar silhouette through the glass. Clara opened the door with a smile.

* * *

“You're making a habit out of distracting me from my marking,” Clara remarked, flashing him a mischievous smile. “Admit it, you want my students to remain uneducated.”

John was surprised to see her in such a good mood and he hated to spoil the rare moment, so he smiled at her in return. “Um, you caught me, I guess,” he replied hesitantly.

When he had stepped into her house, John couldn't shake the feeling that Clara was happy to see him and he was trying his best not to read too much into it. The most likely explanation was that she saw him as a convenient distraction from her work.

“Tea?” she asked and John spun around, his thoughts about her coming to an abrupt end.

“Um, sure,” he said. “Thank you.”

When Clara walked into the kitchen, John followed her and the further he stepped into her house, the heavier the folder in his hand felt to him. That was what he had come here for. The folder. Everything he had found out about her sister during the day.

“I, uh, I spoke to your father today,” John stated carefully.

Clara turned back around, holding a steaming mug in each hand which she set down on the kitchen table. Almost instantly, her smile and high spirits seemed to vanish. “So did I,” she replied. “In fact, you just saved me from a long and awkward conversation.”

She gestured towards a chair and John sat down next to Clara, eyeing her closely. No, the good mood was definitely gone and now, she looked rather annoyed. “You didn't want to talk to him?” he asked.

Clara shrugged. “What's the point? He said what he wanted to say, told me how they thought they wouldn’t be able to cope, told me how they gave her up for adoption, then apologised more times than I can count,” she explained with a sigh. Then, Clara raised her eyes and looked straight at him. There was something in her expression that seemed so serene and yet so furious at the same time. “Do you ever feel like you don't care about someone's apology, no matter how sincere it might be?”

John didn't know how to respond to that.

“My father never told me I had a sister and apologies can't undo that,” she stated plainly. “I still never knew and she's still dead, no matter how often he says sorry.”

Not knowing what else to do, John granted her a weak smile. It occurred to him that over the course of the last few days, he and Clara had developed a sort of friendship and he was glad of that. Even though he hadn't figured out why she had moved here and what was so strange about her, all of the questions John had initially had seemed to matter a little less each time he saw her. She was just Clara: just a young woman caught in the middle of a nightmare and by solving this case, John would make the nightmare go away. “After I spoke to your father, I did a bit of research,” he explained and placed the file on the table.

Clara frowned at him for a moment, then reached for the folder and pulled it a little closer before reading the name that had been hastily written on the front. “Bonnie Moore?” she asked, looking back up at him.

“That's your sister's name,” John said.

There was a rustling of paper as she opened the folder and he knew she was looking at Bonnie's birth certificate. As she turned the page, he found himself mentally listing the contents of the folder, having studied it so intently back at the station, and knew that she would now be examining the adoption papers.

“Bonnie Moore,” Clara read out carefully. “Birth parents: David James Oswald and Elena Alison Ravenwood. Born on the twenty-third of November 1958 in Blackpool. Adoptive parents: James and Rita Moore.”

“A priest by the name of Douglas Henley oversaw the adoption process,” John told her. “He's still alive and we spoke on the phone earlier. Bonnie’s adoptive mother was his sister. He said they were good people.”

“Were?” Clara enquired and John merely nodded towards the file in her hands. Clara quickly began skimming through the pages until she eventually stopped. “Her father was killed in Belfast.”

“Her adoptive parents were Catholics from Belfast,” John said softly. “They-”

Clara closed the file abruptly, looking him straight into the eyes. “I know the story, no need to remind me,” she said gruffly. “What about her mother?”

He inhaled deeply. “Died of cancer,” he explained. “Bonnie moved to London eventually, then back to Belfast. I haven't figured out what she did for a living yet, but I'm still waiting to hear back from a few people. It's a long process.”

Clara nodded understandingly. “Thank you for letting me know.”

“I promised, didn't I?” John said and smiled at her until he remembered something else, something he had wanted to ask her ever since he had found it. Carefully, he pulled the evidence bag out of the inside pocket of his jacket and laid it out on the table.

In response, Clara leaned forward and examined the note through the plastic. “That's my name and address,” she said, sounding surprised. She frowned at him. “Where did you get that?”

“Um, this is something I could get into trouble for,” he said coyly, uttering a nervous laugh. “I took this from Bonnie's pocket the day after we found her. I know I should have turned it in, but I knew that they would start seeing you as a suspect if I did. I knew there had to be another explanation and I think I've found it.”

Clara raised her eyebrows at him.

“I think Bonnie figured out that she was adopted and she came looking for you,” John told her. “That's why she was in Scotland. Only… something must have happened to her on the way. Whether it was an accident or not – we don't know yet.”

When Clara spoke again, John didn't hear the words he was expecting. “You held back important evidence to protect me?” she asked in disbelief. “Why?”

John chuckled, scoffing softly. “Because I knew that you had nothing to do with it. And after you had to identify the body and had your house broken into, I just didn't want to put you through the unnecessary scrutiny,” he said truthfully. “Besides, I never planned to hold it back forever, just as long as I didn't have a good explanation as to why Bonnie had it. Now I do, I’ll show Kate.”

There was a strange look on Clara's face as the meaning of his words began to sink in and suddenly, John regretted saying anything about it at all. Now, Clara Oswald would assume he was a creep or worse, a terrible detective and maybe he was, just like his father had predicted. But eventually, her mouth curled up into a smile.

“That's very considerate of you,” she replied sincerely.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what, guys? I'm feeling nice today and I'm in a romantic mood and it's the beginning of my favourite season, so I thought you should have an extra chapter today :) Hope you enjoy it and thank you so much for your kind comments :)

Clara wasn't entirely sure how their plans had changed and maybe, it had happened entirely by accident. On Saturday afternoon, John called to ask whether she wanted to meet him for a walk with Odin before heading to Kirkwall to find a nice café and Clara agreed all too readily because the weather was lovely and after finishing her marking at last, she decided that some fresh air would do her good. The sun was shining and a soft wind was blowing the salty sea air straight into her face, so it came as no surprise to her that they stayed outside for a little longer than anticipated. They threw sticks for Odin to fetch, watched him try to dig up rabbit holes and talked about Bonnie for a long while. Since the last time they had spoken, John had learned a little more about her twin sister, and had even shown her a photo that had been taken on Bonnie's graduation day when she had received her master's degree in journalism. Somehow, Clara couldn't help but feel a little proud of her sister, but she quickly pushed that thought aside.

“You know what,” Clara said after a while and granted him a smile. “Let's not talk about the case for the rest of the day, okay?”

In return, John raised his eyebrows at her.

Clara uttered a sigh. “I want to know about Bonnie, but right now, I'd rather not think about it at all. Does that make sense?”

Finally, a smile appeared on his lips. “You'd prefer a distraction?”

“Exactly,” Clara confirmed.

She watched as John lifted his arms and pulled up his sleeve to have a look at his watch and shortly after, he frowned, something that made Clara wary.

“Something wrong?”

“No, it's just-” he broke off and turned to look at her. “It's a bit late to get coffee, isn't it? And I have to admit I'm quite hungry.”

Clara cocked an eyebrow at him, smirking in a playful manner. “Are you asking for an upgrade to dinner?”

From one moment to the next, John looked a little sheepish and he quickly turned his head to look at Odin, who was running along a few steps ahead of them. “Well, not so much dinner as maybe…. well, an early dinner. There's a sort of pub type place that I used to go to when I was younger. I'd like to see if it's still there. Their food was excellent.”

“It's alright,” she replied, chuckling to herself. “Let's go to your sort-of pub cause I'm hungry, too.”

As they parted ways to go home, Clara couldn't help but feel a little torn despite already having agreed to dinner. This was exactly what Amy had said to her a while ago: the insinuation that John had a crush on her – or ‘carried a torch’, as Amy had put it. After losing her fiancé, the last thing on Clara's mind was another man, especially not the detective who was working to discover what had happened to her sister. She didn't want to lead him on and she still needed him to solve Bonnie's death, but after six months, a part of her just wanted a bit of company. It was entirely possible that her friend was wrong anyway and John was just being nice. 

Once Clara had arrived home, she didn't have a lot of time to think the matter through because as soon as she had changed her clothes, the doorbell rang and there was John, ready to pick her up.

Yet she frowned at him. “Is that what you're wearing to the pub?” Clara demanded to know, her eyes roving over his attire, which was made up of a pair of plaid trousers, a faded t-shirt and a hoodie.

“Why? What's wrong with it?” John wanted to know, completely oblivious as to why Clara might object to his choice of clothes.

So, it definitely wasn't a date. If it was a date, he would be dressed a little more formally. Clara chuckled. “Nothing. I just assumed your punk days were over, that's all.”

“Shall we go?” he asked, ignoring her reference to his punk days, and Clara nodded in response. Yet before she closed the front door behind her, she giggled once again, now actually happy that she was about to go out for a nice evening with someone who might be something close to a friend.

Clara was curious to see what pub John would take her to, but in any case, it would be somewhere she hadn't seen yet. Even though Clara had spent six months on the island, she hadn't actually seen a lot of it as she hadn't gone out much. At first, she hadn't known anyone to go out _with_ and when Amy had entered her life, both of them had just preferred to stay in with a glass of wine. In fact, the last time she had been to a pub had been in London – with Danny, her fiancé. When she realised that her thoughts were beginning to circle around her dead partner, Clara quickly brushed those memories aside. Scotland was supposed to be her fresh start – or at least that was what she told everyone. Everything else was her own business.

One thing she admired about the island was the quiet and when John parked his car near the harbour about half an hour later, Clara realised that this was as busy as Kirkwall could get. A couple of people were walking through the streets, but if Clara cared to put her mind to it, she could count them on one hand and she was fairly certain that her old estate in Shoreditch had more residents than the entire population of the island combined. The pub itself was small and not too busy and she honestly didn't mind that as they sat down in a corner and ordered their drinks.

“And?” Clara demanded to know after they had ordered a pint.

“And what?” John asked back.

“Has it changed much?”

John took a moment to look around the room and she noticed that his eyes rested on a couple of people tinkering with a microphone on a small stage. “Well, they redecorated,” he remarked. “I don't like it. Looks less shabby than it used to.”

Clara laughed. “You took me to a pub you thought was shabby? Wow, that's nice,” she joked, her voice dripping with gentle sarcasm.

He looked somewhere between affronted and shy and Clara watched him open his mouth, but it took a while before the actual words came out. “Well, um, I said I'd take you somewhere with good food.”

“It's fine,” she reassured him, laughing. “I’m just teasing you.”

“Oh,” he muttered.

The entire evening seemed a little awkward and Clara couldn't really work out why. The only explanation she could think of was that John wasn't really used to social situations and she didn't mind because she herself was only just starting to mingle with people again. Other than that, and other than the awkward shyness, John was nice and that was all that mattered to her.

Just like he had promised, the food was excellent and the more time passed, the more Clara felt like she had made the right decision. They talked about the pub, about other places he had gone to as a teenager – places that probably no longer existed at all – and about Odin and how John was trying to teach him pointless tricks, a mental image that made her laugh. Yet their conversation came to an abrupt halt when the loudspeakers sprang to life and Clara leaned forward and spotted a young man on the stage, clutching the microphone eagerly.

“Good evening, lads and lassies,” the man announced with a broad smile. “It's been a couple of years and some of you might not remember – I certainly don't – but this pub has a long-standing tradition, one we're going to revive tonight with your help.”

“Oh, it's their open mic night,” John said, a sudden excitement in his voice. He leaned closer to Clara and whispered into her ear. “They used to have these when I was young. A couple of people would go on stage and tell jokes and anecdotes. It was hilarious.”

But Clara wasn't entirely convinced. “Hilarious? Are you sure about that?”

“Absolutely. Do you want to have a go?” His entire face lit up and Clara couldn't help but think that he was loving this revival of not only the open mic night, but she supposed of his youth as well. John was enjoying himself.

“I think I'd rather not,” she replied carefully, still laughing because his enthusiasm was a little contagious. When Clara saw him smile, he couldn't help but smile in return.

“Who wants to tell us a little story?” the man on stage asked and to Clara's surprise, John instantly rose to his feet.

“You can't be serious,” Clara uttered, but he only winked at her in response.

 

She could do nothing but watch as John strode towards the stage, climbed the steps and came to a halt next to the young man who handed him a microphone. 

“I'm not sure if you remember me, but I used to come to these events when I was a wee lad,” John began. “Of course, this place used to look quite shabby back then. As for me… less so.”

Some people in the crowd laughed, but Clara wasn't entirely sure whether she should laugh with them or not. All she could think about was how he was going to embarrass himself – and her by association.

“When I moved to London, I didn't think I'd come back to this place, but, you know... life and fate intervened,” he went on. “I did learn a couple of things though. For instance, I finally learned the difference between a Scottish sheep farmer and a Rolling Stones song. Do you know what that is?”

Clara raised her eyebrow at him in anticipation, dreading the answer that was to come because somehow, she already had the feeling it would be cringe-worthy.

“The Rolling Stones song says 'Hey you, get off my cloud'. The farmer says 'Hey McCloud, get off my ewe'.”

The crowd was howling with laughter and Clara had just learned enough about Scottish humour in her time here to understand why and bury her face in her hands. She parted her fingers to peek at John who was visibly enjoying the attention and smiling at the crowd. Clara really hadn't expected this and she wasn't yet sure whether she liked the second-hand embarrassment or not.

“Yeah,” John chuckled. “I know. But when you are in London, you start to think about a few things that seem quite normal here, and you start to wonder why that is. Like, do you ever think about why bagpipers walk while they play?”

The people at the pub didn't respond, but they all looked up at John expectantly.

“I thought about this for a very long time and the only possible explanation I could come up with was that they're trying to get away from the noise.”

This time, Clara laughed with the rest of them, not because she found it particularly funny, but because she was laughing at the fact that John – a police detective, an otherwise stern and serious man – was making a fool himself for the amusement of others.

“Not that London isn't strange in its own way, no, quite the opposite. A couple of years ago, I spotted a good deal in a newspaper advert and it went a bit wrong. So, this guy shows up with a large military tank and not knowing what else to do with it, I park it in my front garden because where else would I put it, right?” he asked and the crowd went silent, waiting eagerly for the punchline. “See, my neighbour was strange and really into that sort of thing and when he got home from work, he said 'Nice tank.' And you know what I told him?”

Clara had an inkling where it was going and she bit down on her lip, hoping that she was wrong.

“‘Thanks. I bought it for my fish.’”

As the entire pub burst into laughter, Clara uttered a groan and hid her face in her hands. If someone asked her, she would absolutely deny knowing him.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *group hug for the sweet comment leavers* :) I'm glad you enjoyed John and Clara's very first date (we all know it is one), so let's see how things unfold there...

“So, what did you think?” John asked excitedly as he sank back into his seat. He was beaming at her, looking utterly exuberant.

Not knowing what else to do, Clara laughed. “I don't know you and I'm certainly not here with you. What are you doing at my table?”

“Come on,” John replied, smiling at her. “It was funny. Admit it.”

She chuckled because, yes, it had been funny but completely overdone. “The beginning was,” Clara admitted. “Until you told the tank story.”

“Hey, it's a true story,” he insisted and all of a sudden, he looked terribly insulted that she didn't believe him.

“Never.”

“I have the pictures to prove it.”

Clara looked at him for a long moment, trying to determine whether he was telling her the truth. Even though she wasn't quite convinced, even though the entire situation was utterly ridiculous, she suddenly burst into laughter. Whether or not the story was true, the fact that John had made a fool of himself in front of everyone just seemed incredibly hilarious to her. It took him a moment, but eventually, he joined in and laughed with her until Clara's cheeks started to hurt.

“What happened to it?” she wanted to know.

He reached for his pint and took a sip. “To what?”

“To the tank.”

“Oh, that,” he said and then shrugged. “I donated it to a museum. Got an actual fish tank later.”

Clara chuckled, shaking her head in the process. Somehow, she couldn't help but think that she had completely misjudged John. She had already seen that he was kind, but Clara hadn't bothered to look beyond that so far because her main concern had been the fact that he was the detective working on Bonnie's case. Right now, however, she was overcome by the urge to get to know him better. Their laughter died down eventually, and as the pub grew quieter after no one else volunteered to pick up the mic after John's performance, Clara considered her next move.

“John, can I ask you a personal question?” she enquired cautiously.

“Um,” he hesitated. She had obviously taken him by surprise. “That depends, I suppose. How personal?”

Clara raised her head and looked straight at him and for the first time, she noticed how interesting his face really was. John was rather handsome, but not in the usual sense. She could tell his age by the lines on his forehead and around his eyes and she wasn't quite sure whether they had been the result of frowning or laughter. His grey eyes, which seemed so boyish at times, were now boring into her and he was knitting his impressive eyebrows together in her direction.

“You said you were a widower,” Clara began after a moment. “I know it's none of my business, but I'm curious. What happened?”

It was clear that John hadn't expected that kind of question and in response, he blew the air out between his teeth and leaned back in his chair. His gaze wandered around the room and Clara got the impression that he was looking for an excuse or a distraction so he wouldn't have to talk about it. It was something she understood all too well; after all, she didn't like talking about Danny either.

“That was a long time ago,” John said eventually. He still didn't look at her; instead, he seemed to focus on a random spot behind her as he cast his mind back to the past. “I don't really like to dwell on it, to be honest.”

“I get that,” Clara replied at once, “and you don't have to tell me. Like I said, I was just curious.”

To her surprise, John chuckled softly and leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table while his hands folded around his pint. “I married River in the sixties. I don't even really know why,” he said, scoffing. “I mean, I loved her and we had been together for a while, but if you asked me now whose idea it was or who suggested it in the first place, I couldn't even tell you. Fact is, we got married and we were happy together and all that time, it felt like a happy accident to me. There was this great woman and she loved me and we were going to be together until death do us part.”

Clara smiled at the thought of it. It was how she had felt about Danny. Meeting him, going on a first date, going on a second – in hindsight, it seemed more like a happy accident had brought them together than anything else.

“What happened to her?” Clara wanted to know, hoping that his story would take her mind off Danny.

John shrugged. “She was… special. Very brave, very determined, always craving an adventure. You looked at her and you thought that there was nothing she couldn't do,” he explained, smiling. “River was an archaeologist and she often went abroad when there was an exciting dig somewhere. When I could take time off work, I sometimes travelled with her. One day, she announced that she was going off on another trip, this time to Egypt. She’d been before, but they’d uncovered some new artefact or tomb; something of that ilk.”

Clara listened intently, wondering where his story would lead even though she already knew that it wasn't going to have a happy ending. And yet… she couldn't bring herself to tell him to stop. She had to know.

“I was…. a little annoyed,” John went on, now lowering his gaze to the beer in his hands. “It was coming up to our tenth wedding anniversary and I had made plans, plans I hadn't told her about because it was going to be a surprise. So, I was annoyed because I knew she'd be gone for the big day.”

“What did you do?” Clara asked curiously.

John shrugged and when he uttered a laugh, it was still a sad one, even though what he was telling her about had happened decades before. “We fought,” he explained. “We often did that, but we always made up eventually. As soon as her plane took off, I felt so guilty because I knew she was passionate about her work and I knew that we could still celebrate our anniversary later and I vowed to myself that I would apologise for making a scene as soon as she got back.”

John paused and there was no need for him to continue the story because Clara knew. Just by looking at him, she could tell what had happened next.

“She never came back,” Clara finished his sentence for him.

Without looking up, John shook his head. “It's one thing to lose your wife,” he said. “It's another to lose someone and have so much left to say, so much to apologise for, and you know that the other person is never going to hear it.”

Clara wasn't quite sure why she was doing it, but on the spur of the moment, she reached over and placed her hand on his wrist in an attempt to comfort him. “I get that,” Clara said sincerely. That was something she understood all too well.

Finally, John lifted his head and when he looked at her, Clara felt as if he was looking into her soul her with his gaze. “Why?” he wanted to know. “Have you lost someone?”

In response, she opened her mouth and she was about to tell him: she was about to tell him all of it. Danny. The accident. Everything she had worked out after. And yet… something stopped her before she could get the words out, and she knew that she would never get a chance to put things right if she told John now. “My mum,” she said instead. “I told you about her.”

For a moment, it seemed as if John didn't quite believe her and Clara quickly withdrew her hand and looked away.

“Right,” he said, smiling softly. “Yeah, you told me.”

There was an awkwardly long moment of silence before Clara exhaled sharply and leaned back. “I'm sorry I brought this up,” she apologised. “I feel like I completely ruined the good mood.”

John chuckled. “It's okay,” he reassured her. “I mean, it's been twenty years. At some point, you just get over it. I admit, it took me a long time, but I've accepted the fact that I'll never be able to apologise and I don't think River would hold it against me.”

Cautiously, Clara lifted her head and smiled at him even though she had to force herself to do so. A part of her envied John for his ability to move on and she wished that she could do the same thing: move on, forget about it, accept that Danny wouldn't want her to grieve forever. But to do that would mean abandoning her plan and that would mean that some sacrifices would have been made in vain.

“Now that we've completely ruined the evening,” John went on and his voice sounded a lot lighter than it had before, “would you like to take a depressing walk along the harbour and talk about how the world is going to the dogs?”

Clara chuckled in response, but the idea of fresh air greatly appealed to her right now. “You know what? Let's do just that,” she agreed, smiling at him. And even though the evening hadn't gone exactly as planned, Clara still felt her spirits lift a little and it was because of John. Looking at him, she felt as if somehow, at some point, life was going to get better. It just had to.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for the lovely comments on the last chapter :) Yes, John and Clara's date went well, but they shouldn't forget about the case, right?

As he made his way into the police station the following Monday, the evening with Clara was still on his mind and it made him smile – namely that he had made her smile. No matter how often Clara claimed that she had found John's performance embarrassing, there was no way she could deny that she had enjoyed herself. And so had he. Maybe one day, Clara would tell him why she had really left London, but in the meantime, John was quite content just making her laugh because she seemed to need it as badly as he did.

However, what lay ahead of him was certainly no laughing matter. John knew that he couldn't possibly postpone the conversation any longer and the longer he waited, the more furious Kate would be because he had done something a detective should never, ever do. But the identity of the dead woman was revealed at last and he knew the reason for the note, so he had to tell his boss about it and he had to do it now.

Yet as he made his way towards Kate Stewart's office, John noticed her almost run up the corridor to meet him and whatever it was, it seemed a lot more urgent than his confession. 

“I need you in the interview room right now,” Kate announced when she had reached him. Instead of stopping to catch her breath, she instantly walked right back in the direction she had come from and John had no other choice but to follow.

“Why? What is it?” he wanted to know.

“It's the man you've described a few days ago,” Kate replied breathlessly. “A couple of officers picked him up when he was having breakfast this morning. He agreed to talk to us.”

“What are we waiting for then?” John shot back and sped up his pace. If he had to be completely honest, John had half expected the man to never show his face again. The fact that he was still on the island and that he was willing to talk to the police was exciting news, even though a voice in the back of his head urged him to keep calm. If he was here on his own free will, the man obviously felt like he had nothing to hide, but if he did, John would find out what it was.

“I heard you delivered quite the performance on Saturday,” Kate said as they approached the interview room.

John's head shot around and noticed the smirk on her face. “Who told you?” he wanted to know.

Yet Kate merely shrugged. “You've been away for too long,” she remarked, grinning. “Have you forgotten that there's always someone who knows someone who was there?”

John uttered a groan before they stepped into the interview room because he had indeed forgotten that nothing on this damned island went unnoticed. By now, half the people in the town would know he had been to the pub with Clara Oswald. 

When he walked into the room, his focus shifted instantly. Inside the scarcely furnished space that held only a table and a couple of chairs, the man named Ciaran was already waiting and he smiled at them as they entered.

“Good morning,” Kate greeted the man in a friendly manner. “Thank you for agreeing to talk to us.”

“No problem,” the man replied and by now, his self-satisfied smile was beginning to irritate John a little. He looked almost smug and he understood why Clara had been freaked out when the man approached her.

John watched Ciaran closely as Kate explained to him that their conversation would be recorded and Ciaran agreed to everything in a manner that made John think he didn't have a single care in the world. He seemed almost _happy_ to talk to them.

“Of course,” Ciaran said after Kate had finished. “I mean, I'd be happy to help in any way I can even though I doubt that what I'll say will be of much use. I've only just arrived here, really.”

Kate seemed utterly oblivious to his creepy nature and smiled at him in return. If she noticed anything, she was doing a very good job at hiding her reaction. “Thank you,” she said and started the tape recorder. “Let's start with your full name.”

“Ciaran O'Neill,” the man replied.

“And does the name Bonnie Moore mean anything to you?” his boss wanted to know.

Ciaran O'Neill considered his answer for a moment, as if he was making a point to look as if he was thinking hard about the question before he shook his head. “No, I don't think so.”

“Are you sure?” John asked gruffly. He didn't believe it. There had to be a connection somewhere.

“Well, I don't memorise the name of every person I meet. It's possible that I know her, but it would be only a fleeting acquaintance.”

“What about Clara Oswald?”

Again, the man shook his head. “No, never heard of her, sorry.”

“You talked to her though,” John replied in an accusatory tone and he leaned forward just a little to get a better look at Ciaran's reaction. “At the hardware shop.”

It took him a moment, but eventually, his face lit up when he remembered the incident. “Oh, the pretty woman with the lock,” he said. “Yeah, I remember. I talked to her, but I didn't know her name.”

John frowned at him. “You just volunteered to help a woman you didn't know?”

At that, Ciaran O'Neill uttered a laugh. “Yeah, I mean, come on,” he replied. “She was pretty and obviously in need of some help. I just thought I'd offer my advice. That's not a crime, is it?”

 _Bollocks_ , John thought but he knew better than to say it out loud. Something was off about this man and he would find out exactly what that was. But before he could say anything, Kate placed a photo on the table and pushed it in Ciaran's direction.

“Do you recognise Bonnie Moore now?”

Ciaran O'Neill picked up the photograph, a picture of Bonnie they had dug up during their research, and he looked at it for a long while. “She looks like the woman at the hardware shop,” he noted after a few seconds and looked up at them. “It can't be the same woman, can it?”

“You asked me about her,” John spat. “At the café, you walked up to me and asked me questions about the dead woman we had found. Why?”

The man shrugged. “I was curious,” he replied simply. “Thought maybe I could use it.”

“For what?” John demanded to know.

Ciaran O'Neill uttered a heavy sigh. “I came to this island to have some peace and quiet and to write a book. I thought maybe this case would inspire me.”

“A book about what?”

He smiled in response. “I'm sorry, but I'd rather not say too much before it's finished. I mean, it's not even relevant. I don't know either of these women apart from when I briefly talked to her at the hardware shop.”

John could tell that by now, the man was eager to get the discussion over with and judging by the look on Kate's face, she was fairly certain that it wouldn't lead anywhere, but John wasn't done just yet. He wasn't convinced by anything the man had told them. It was his smile, his strange smile, that made John think he knew _something_.

“You're not from here, are you?” John asked in a desperate attempt to keep the conversation going. “I mean, you don't have a local accent, you said you only got here recently. Why?”

“As I've said,” Ciaran O'Neill repeated and his voice was dripping with impatience, “I came here to write a book. I'm from Belfast.”

“Belfast. That's where Bonnie Moore grew up,” John said. Finally, there was a connection. “Are you still saying you didn't know her?”

The smile had faded from the man's face entirely and was now replaced by a look of anger. “I don't know her,” Ciaran replied sharply, almost spitting his answer back at John. “There are thousands of people living in Belfast, I don't know every single one of them. Maybe I went to university with her, maybe she worked at the café where I had lunch once, maybe she was the cashier in a supermarket where I bought my toilet paper. I can't say I've never met her because I don't know, but I don't remember her face or her name.”

Kate Stewart sighed next to him. “Alright, I think we've heard enough,” she said to John before she turned to face Ciaran. “I'm sorry that we took up so much of your time, but we appreciate that you came to talk to us.”

The man nodded. “It's alright,” he replied.

Even though John had his doubts, even though he still didn't believe Ciaran, even though the coincidences were too much for him to ignore, he knew that for now, there was nothing else he could do. Apart from having approached Clara at the hardware shop and having resided in the same city Bonnie had grown up in, there really wasn't any connection to the case that he could find right now. John needed to find out more, but for now, it seemed as if they had to let him go.

“Thank you for your time,” Kate said sincerely and switched off the recording device. The interview was officially over and the smug smile was back on Ciaran O'Neill's face.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely comments!
> 
> Well, John isn't convinced by O'Neill's statement, but what can he do about that?

“He's lying!”

Kate stared at him for a long moment and no matter how often he said it, somehow, she still wouldn't believe him and John was running out of ideas how else he could make it plain to her that something about that man was very, very wrong. Eventually, she crossed her arms in front of her chest and sighed. 

“Okay, prove it,” she demanded angrily. “Prove that he's lying, give me something, _anything_ that is more than a wild accusation.”

“We've been in the same room,” John growled. “We've seen and heard the same things-”

“What I've heard is Ciaran O'Neill telling us that he doesn't know Clara Oswald or Bonnie Moore.”

“And you believed that?!” he barked at her. Right now, John was ready to think that he had completely overestimated Kate if she fell for a suspect's lies that easily. But not him. It was the man's smile and the coincidences that kept piling up. There had to be more to it than the simple explanation Ciaran O'Neill had given them.

“What I believe doesn't matter,” Kate replied eventually. “Did I find his behaviour strange? Yes, I did.”

“Then why aren't you doing something about it?” John demanded to know.

“Because that's not how this works!” Her voice cut through the air like a knife and John realised too late that his boss was properly infuriated. “We can't arrest someone for being strange or creepy. Even if the coincidences are there, they could be just that. Coincidence. What we need is evidence!”

John let his shoulders sink, not knowing how on earth he would get that.

“Do you have any of that?”

He shook his head.

“We can keep an eye out for strange activities,” Kate told him after a moment, her voice now softer. “We can bring him back the next time he does something odd, but that's it. Until he actually breaks the law, my hands are tied.”

In return, John uttered a weary sigh because, in his heart, he absolutely knew that Kate was right about everything she had said. They just had no reason to hold O'Neill, but that didn't mean that John couldn't keep looking for one. However, as his boss turned to leave, he realised that there was something he still hadn't told her and even though now was possibly the worst time to do that, John had to get it over with or he would never find the courage.

“Kate,” he said carefully and his boss turned back around. “There's something I need to tell you.”

A small frown appeared on her forehead as she stepped closer and John dearly hoped that she wouldn't be too angry. She wouldn't, would she? He was handing her the evidence – just a little bit later than he should – and he was handing it to her with an explanation on top. That had to count for something. Carefully, John reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the note before he wordlessly handed it to Kate.

She took it after a moment of reluctance and John waited as her eyes trailed over the few lines written on the piece of paper and he watched her frown deepen.

“What is this?” she asked eventually, the confusion audible in her voice. “Where did you get it from?”

John cleared his throat and shuffled his feet a little awkwardly because he knew that he had messed up. Not on a huge scale, but once the truth was out, Kate would most definitely give him a lecture. “I, uh, I found it in Bonnie Moore's pocket,” he confessed and dropped his voice until it was hardly more than a mumble. “The day after the body was found.”

“ _You've had this note the whole time?!_ ”

“I meant to hand it in, but-”

“But _what?!_ ” his boss shouted and when John looked at her, the anger was now visible on her face. She wasn't just angry, she was furious. “John, you've worked for the police for a very long time now, I'm sure I don't have to tell you that withholding evidence is a very serious matter.”

To underline her statement, she threw the note back at him, almost slamming it against his chest and John only caught at it at the last moment before it could flutter towards the floor. 

“I'm handing it in now, am I not?!”

“Not good enough!” Kate shouted and crossed his arms in front of her chest in a defensive gesture. She suddenly appeared a little taller as if she was deliberately pushing herself up on tiptoes to be more intimidating. However, her voice had now lost some of its anger. “John, I didn't want to bring it up because I know you're a good detective, but you have a history.”

“That has nothing to do with this case!” he argued in his defence.

“It has everything to do with this case!” Kate spat. “You disobeyed orders, you disregarded rules and you were fired for it.”

“I left.”

Kate ignored his protest. “Withholding this note? That is disregarding one of the most basic rules that we have,” she went on. “I will overlook it this once because you’ve given it to me now, but I will not tolerate it again, do you understand me?!”

“I was waiting until I had found an explanation for it!” John tried to explain, but judging by the look on Kate's face, she wasn't buying it and he could feel it now before she had even said the words. The true reason he had kept it hidden.

“Oh, and what explanation would that be?” she demanded to know, her voice dripping with sarcasm because she knew the truth now. His boss has seen through him quicker than he had seen it himself.

John swallowed hard before he replied. “Bonnie obviously found out that Clara was her twin sister and came here to find her.”

Suddenly, Kate reached out and jabbed his chest with her index finger. “You wanted to protect Clara Oswald,” she half shouted at him. “Which, given that it's you, is quite noble, but you didn't think it through, did you?!”

Slowly, John raised his eyebrows at his boss and Kate, in response, scoffed sharply before she continued. “Let's assume you're right,” she said. “Bonnie Moore figured out she had a sister, tracked her down and came here to find Clara, address in her pocket. Then what happened?”

All of a sudden, John had an idea and he knew that it should have occurred to him right after they had found out Bonnie's name. How had she even come to the island in the first place? By plane? By ferry? No matter how she had done it, there had to be a record of it somewhere and with that, they could pinpoint the exact moment she had arrived on this island. He was so stupid not to have thought of it before.

“John, what happened next?!” Kate demanded, throwing him a stern look.

“I, uh, she died,” he replied. “We don't know how.”

“Exactly,” his boss said. “And right now, the only connection that we have is Clara Oswald. You can't deny it.”

“She had nothing to do with it,” John argued. “She repeatedly said she didn't know about Bonnie until I told her.”

“Yeah, well, remember five minutes ago when you told me that you think the suspect was lying? I think the one who is lying here is Clara Oswald,” Kate said sharply in a tone that was almost a growl. “We need to bring in her for questioning.”

John uttered a groan. That was exactly why he had held the note back, that was why he hadn't mentioned it to Kate and now what he had feared would happen was actually happening. “She had nothing to do with it,” he repeated, trying to remain as calm as possible. “Clara looked at the body and said she didn't know her. She insisted she didn't have a sister when she took the DNA test and she was shocked when I told her about the results.”

Kate squinted her eyes at him and he could feel her anger return. “Excuse me for not taking your word on that after you've withheld one of the most crucial details of this investigation,” she barked. “Just because her pretty face has turned your head doesn't mean I'll let you compromise this investigation with your unfounded instinct to protect her. As of now, Clara Oswald is a suspect and I will question her whether you like it or not!”

John opened his mouth to reply, to shout something back at her, to tell her that she was wasting her time, but he never got the chance as Kate spun on her heels and the door was slammed shut behind her. As soon as he was on his own, John felt his heart sink. Kate was not only looking in the wrong place, she was defying his theories in her stubborn attempt to get back at him. Not that he couldn't relate to that, but in this case, it was Clara Oswald who would suffer the consequences of his actions. Maybe it wasn't entirely wrong what Kate had thrown at him. Maybe her pretty face had turned his head. But if that was all Clara was guilty of, John could absolutely live with that.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the sweets comments, guys!!!

This time, the nightmare was a different one. Clara rarely dreamed of the incident itself which was why it made everything worse, made her relive the most dreadful moment in her entire life. She could feel the crowd shoving her, closing in around her, desperately trying to get a good look at what was going on while Clara stood frozen to the spot. No matter how much they pushed or shoved her, no matter what they said to her, Clara couldn't move because she knew that at that moment, life as she knew it had come to an end.

It was the ringing of the phone that woke her up and the first thing she did was to glance at her alarm clock. She didn't have to be in school until the third lesson of the day and on her way to answer the phone, Clara would have normally cursed whoever had woken her so early, but today, she thanked them for putting an end to her nightmare.

“This is Clara Oswald speaking,” she said, her voice hoarse and her mouth still dry. She needed a cup of tea.

After a short moment of silence, Clara could hear a familiar voice. “Hello Miss Oswald, this is Kate Stewart.”

Clara inhaled deeply and the fact that she was calling so early could only mean one thing. If it was about her children, she might have come straight to school to talk to her, but this had to be about Bonnie. There was no other explanation.

“Um, what can I do for you?” Clara asked carefully, tucking the phone between her shoulder and her ear so she could use both hands to fill a glass with tap water. Kate continued before she had the chance to take a sip.

“It's about Bonnie,” she replied. “I know you've had your fair share of trouble lately, but I'd still like to talk to you about the case one more time. Would you mind coming to the station to give a statement?”

Not knowing what else to do, Clara decided to pretend she didn't have a clue about anything for the time being, but even as she said the words, she doubted it would do any good. “Is that necessary? I've already spoken to John about everything,” she replied.

“I know you have,” Kate said and there was an undertone in her voice that Clara couldn't quite place. Was it anger? Distrust? Had John finally told Kate about the note? Clara couldn't think of any other reason why she would call now. “We've made some progress, but at the same time, it feels like the case is going nowhere. We just want to make sure we're exploring all the options.”

Clara was a suspect. Kate was putting it nicely, but it didn't change the fact that she suspected that Clara had something to do with Bonnie's death. Finally, Clara took a sip of water just so her mouth wouldn't feel so incredibly dry. “Of course,” she said in response. “I understand.”

There was an audible sigh of relief on the other end of the line. “Thank you,” Kate replied, sounding sincere. “I know you're probably still shaken after the break-in and finding out that you have a sister, so I want you to know that I appreciate it.”

Clara nodded even though Kate couldn't see it through the phone. “I, uh, I finish a little earlier on Friday. Would that be okay or do you need a statement right away?”

“Friday is perfectly fine,” Kate said. “And again, thank you.”

The rest of the day passed in a haze due to the lack of sleep and the call from Kate that was still on her mind, so Clara made a decision that was greeted with a lot of enthusiasm from her students as she pushed the cart into the classroom that held the TV set and the VCR. Claiming that it was a desperate attempt to finally rouse their love for Shakespeare, Clara started the BBC adaption of _Love's Labour's Lost_ and sat in the back, only occasionally shushing some giggling girls and when the work day was finally over, Clara was more than happy to head home.

Her mood lifted a little when she approached her house on her motorcycle and spotted a figure that was familiar to her by now. As she parked her bike next to the fence and took off her helmet, Clara could already see John's apologetic smile and her features lit up in response. Before she greeted John, Clara bent down and ruffled Odin's ears. “Hello, you good boy,” she said to the dog.

John chuckled. “I can't remember the last time someone called me a good boy.”

Clara looked up and glowered at him in a playful manner.

“Yes, alright,” John said with a smile. “It was worth a try.”

Before Clara even had the chance to say anything, John's features suddenly grew a lot more serious and she knew that she wouldn't have to say anything at all because he was about to.

“I'm sorry, Clara,” he apologised instantly. “I had to show Kate the note. I thought she was going to let it go, but-”

“I know,” she replied, nodding. “Kate called me today. I'm going to give a statement on Friday after work.”

“I feel like it's all my fault,” John said and when he spoke, Clara thought he looked as though he actually believed it. “If I hadn't-”

“Stop right there,” Clara cut him off before he had finished his sentence. “It's not your fault that Bonnie had a note with my address on. How would that be your fault?”

In return, John blew the air out between his teeth and let his gaze wander across the landscape. “Maybe I shouldn't have told Kate about it at all. This is stupid!”

“John,” Clara said sincerely and once again, without knowing why she did it, she reached out and placed her hand on his arm, “I appreciate that you were trying to protect me after everything that has happened lately, but you can't keep taking risks for me. Especially not when they’re about something that can damage your career.”

John scoffed at her in reply. “If my career was the priority, I've come to the wrong place.”

Clara glared at him. “It's not a joke,” she said in earnest. “That note is a piece of evidence and frankly, I get why your boss would want to question me about it.”

He didn't respond and when Clara realised that she was still touching his arm, she quickly withdrew her hand. The truth was, she really appreciated what John had done for her, but she knew that she shouldn't encourage him to break the rules, not if she wanted him to solve the case. And she really wanted that.

“It's going to be fine,” she promised and granted him a smile. “I'll just go to the station and tell Kate everything I've already told you.”

For a moment, John looked at her as if he didn't quite believe that she was actually fine with it, so Clara turned her smile into a grin to divert the subject. “Besides, I've got a completely unrelated question to ask you.”

Finally, John's features softened a little and he went from looking concerned to looking quite intrigued. “Oh? And what would that be?”

“Oh, well,” she hummed, grinning at him, “I quite enjoyed the pub on Saturday and a couple of students mentioned that they're showing _Monty Python and the Holy Grail_ at the cinema on Thursday. After all those silly jokes you told at the pub, I thought you might like to go and see it.”

Clara knew that his answer would be a yes even before he agreed because the smile on his face was nothing but sincere and gave him away long before he even said anything at all. “I'd love to,” he replied.

“Great,” Clara said, giggling a little. It was one thing to hang out with Amy, but she and John had something quite important in common and in his presence, Clara finally felt as if she wasn't going to be judged for her past or her feelings.

“It's a date,” John said excitedly and the moment the words escaped his mouth, he looked as though he regretted ever saying them. His face instantly turned a dark shade of red. “Oh, um, not a date. Not that kind of date. Not… oh, you know what I mean.”

“Yes,” Clara chuckled. “I know.”

John averted his gaze, obviously embarrassed by his slip of the tongue and Clara giggled once again before she turned towards her house. “See you on Thursday.”


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update!!! And thank you for your lovely comments :) Of course it's a date between John and Clara, there's no denying that ;)

“My favourite bit will always be where they decide not to go to Camelot because it's _silly_ ,” Clara chuckled before she lifted the cup of hot chocolate to her mouth and blew on the steaming beverage to cool it. Because the February evening was chilly, John had suggested grabbing a cup so they could stay warm on the way to the car. Yet despite her warm coat and the cocoa, Clara seemed cold. John thought there was something adorable about the way she looked right now, wrapped up in a parka with only her funny nose sticking out of the furry hood. When she spoke again, John realised that he had been so focused on the sight next to him that he had completely forgotten to listen.

“I'm sorry,” he apologised quickly. “You were saying?”

Again, Clara chuckled. It was nice to hear her laugh after everything that had happened. “I was asking what your favourite part was.”

“Oh, that's easy,” John replied with a grin. “It's the Black Knight.”

“Good choice,” Clara remarked as they continued their walk towards where he had parked his car and then she grew quiet again, focusing only on her hot chocolate. John assumed that in those moments, she remembered everything that was going on and no matter how often she claimed to be fine, he could tell that it wasn't true, not entirely. He took Clara for a strong woman, one who hated showing even the tiniest hint of weakness.

“You know it's okay, don't you?” he asked.

Clara turned her head, her large, dark eyes looking at him out of the furry cocoon that was the hood of her coat. “What do you mean?”

“It's okay not to be okay with what's happening,” John explained and cringed at the choice of his own words. He wasn't good at this, he wasn't good at comforting people, but he wanted to make an earnest attempt for Clara. “There are some things we should never be okay about.”

It took her a moment, but eventually, Clara seemed to catch on when she realised what he was talking about. “I didn't even know her,” she said with a shrug, but from the look in her eyes, John could tell that she wasn't as stone-cold as she appeared to be. “I didn't know she existed until I saw her dead body.”

For just a second, Clara glanced away when she answered him and it confirmed John's theory. “She was still your sister. I don't blame you for… well, whatever emotion you feel. Anger, sadness. It's okay.”

With a sigh, Clara turned her head to look straight ahead. “I just want to get this all over with,” she admitted. “I just want to forget everything that has happened and move on.”

“But you can't?” John asked carefully.

Clara nodded next to him and to him, it seemed as if her thoughts were miles away.

“You shouldn't worry about the statement tomorrow,” he told her. “It's going to be fine.”

“I'm not worried,” Clara replied a little too quickly for it to be the truth. Everyone, no matter if they were innocent or guilty, was at least a little worried about giving a statement at the police station and it was a completely normal reaction. Even John was nervous on her behalf. Kate hadn't spoken to him since he had shared the note with her, at least not when it wasn't absolutely necessary, and John worried about what the interview would be like. Of course, Kate had every reason to be angry at him, but the last thing he wanted was for her to take it out in Clara. Whatever was going to happen tomorrow afternoon, the thought about it had kept John up the previous few nights.

“If you want to, I can be there, too,” he suggested eventually.

When she raised her eyebrows, John could tell that Clara wasn't entirely convinced. “Will Kate allow that?”

John shrugged. “I'm working this investigation as much as she is,” he said casually. “I have every right to be there when she questions you.”

“What sort of questions do you think she's going to ask me?”

He felt a fluttering in his stomach, a tiny hint of guilt because he knew he shouldn't be talking about the investigation with Clara, not like this. Kate would throw a fit if she overheard their conversation. To Kate, Clara was a suspect, ridiculous as it seemed, and if he was completely honest, John didn't know what to expect from Kate any longer.

“I'm not sure,” he admitted after a while. “I suppose she's going to ask if you knew her.”

“I already told you that,” she replied and there was a hint of annoyance in her voice, something John understood completely. He was also annoyed with Kate's behaviour even though, strictly speaking, he had brought it on himself.

“I'm sorry the interviewing of that guy wasn't fruitful,” John said. A part of him really just wanted to apologise because he still felt like the man had had a connection to Bonnie and another part of him just wanted to change the subject. It didn't matter that she was innocent, John shouldn't help Clara prepare her statement. That was wrong on so many levels.

“What did you make of him?” Clara wanted to know and finally, she took a sip of her hot chocolate after it had cooled down enough for her to drink it.

John exhaled sharply. “I think Ciaran O'Neill is full of shit,” he said. “Excuse the language. But Kate is right: we have nothing on him and being creepy isn't a good enough reason for an arrest. You haven't seen him again, have you?”

For a moment, Clara said nothing at all and when he turned his head to see what was wrong, John thought that her eyes had widened in horror or shock or both. Then the look on her face was gone before he could be sure it was really what he had seen.

“O'Neill? That's his name?” Clara asked and continued to sip her cocoa.

John nodded in reply, but he couldn't help the frown that appeared on his face as he watched Clara's reaction. “Is everything okay?” he wanted to know, his voice careful. “Why do you ask? Does that name ring a bell? Have you seen him again?”

“I, uh,” she said and paused. “I'm not sure. I might have seen him around the school, but he was gone before I could be sure it was him.”

For some reason, John thought there was more to it than that, but it didn't matter right now. What mattered was the fact that Clara thought she had seen him. John stopped dead in his tracks and when Clara noticed, she came to a halt as well. “Is that man stalking you?” he demanded to know and he felt a sudden flash of anger rise up inside him. “Because if he is, I'll have him back at the station by tomorrow!”

“Calm down!” Clara told him determinedly. “I said I wasn't sure. It could have been a different man who looks like him.”

“I don't believe that,” John insisted firmly. “There's something fishy about him.”

To his great surprise, Clara suddenly uttered a loud groan as she rolled her eyes at him. He was about to ask what bothered her when she already followed with the complaint that was weighing on her mind. “I wanted an ordinary evening at the cinema,” she said exasperatedly, dropping her shoulders. “I wanted to go out, have fun, talk to you. I didn't want it to be all about the case again.”

For a moment, John was going to argue that he just wanted to make sure she was okay, but he eventually thought better of it because when he looked at Clara, he saw a woman who had had her life turned upside down, a woman who was thrown into the middle of a murder mystery, and more than anything, a woman who probably wanted nothing more than a friend.

“Sorry,” he apologised instead. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to ruin the evening… again.”

It took a while, but after a few seconds, Clara's features lit up. “It's becoming a pattern,” she remarked with a shrug.

John chuckled softly and mimicked her gesture when he shrugged as well. “I suppose you'll have to give me a chance to make it up to you,” he said before he could think better of it and only after he had spoken the words, he realised how silly it sounded. Clara Oswald would have better things to do than to hang out with him. Yet in response, she smiled so earnestly that he somehow knew it was a yes. John wanted to ask, he wanted to know why, why him, but he didn't get the chance when Clara suddenly hooked her arm through his and softly pulled him in the direction of the car.

“Thank you though,” she said after a while. “For listening to me.”

“Um,” John said, “you're welcome.”


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *a big group hug for all the commenters* Thank you guys :) You are amazing!
> 
> And yes, Clara is hiding something. Maybe it will finally come to light during her interview?

Clara was already waiting in the interview room when they entered, nervously twiddling her thumbs on the table. When John and Kate stepped inside, her hands vanished under the table and Clara looked up, a soft smile appearing on her lips when she spotted him, and she shot him a look of relief.

“Hello, Miss Oswald,” Kate greeted her and sat down on the opposite side of the table without further ado while Clara uttered a _hello_ in response.

John also pulled up a chair, but not without smiling at Clara one more time. “Hello,” he said softly. No matter how much she had claimed that the prospect of giving a statement didn't make her nervous, right now, John knew that it clearly wasn't true. Clara was obviously uncomfortable being here.

“Hi,” she breathed in reply and despite hating the circumstances, she was still smiling back at him.

Yet Kate hardly gave them any time to settle down before she began with her questions and her tone of voice was borderline hostile as she explained that their conversation would be recorded. John had never been great with manners, but even he could tell that his boss wasn't being nearly as friendly as she could be and sadly, he knew why that was. It was all his fault.

“Okay, let's start with Bonnie Moore,” Kate concluded once the formalities were out of the way. “Did you know her?”

Clara shook her head.

“Please, answer aloud for the recording,” his boss reminded her.

John was about to open his mouth when Clara's voice suddenly filled the room. “No, I didn't know her,” she replied, her hands moving, fidgeting underneath the table. He could only imagine what it must feel like to repeat her statement for what must have felt like the twentieth time when she had only just learned of her sister's existence and death.

“Can you tell me what happened surrounding the Bonnie Moore case?”

Clara inhaled deeply and glanced towards John as if looking for his guidance. He gave a soft nod, indicating she should continue. “I, uh, you stormed my house because you thought I was the dead woman you had found,” she said eventually and at last, John could hear a hint of defiance in her voice. “I came to the station to look at the body, but I didn't recognise her. I gave you my DNA and then John, that is, Detective Inspector Smith, told me that we were related.”

“And did the news surprise you?” Kate wanted to know.

In response, Clara frowned at her as if she didn't quite understand the question.

“What did you feel when DI Smith brought you the news of your sister's death?” his boss elaborated. “Anger? Sadness? Grief? Surprise?”

Still, Clara hesitated and John didn't really understand why that was, why she didn't just tell Kate what was going on in her head. Clara hadn't seemed to mind sharing it with him.

“I don't know,” she said, shrugging. “I don't think I really grasped it at first. I mean, I was an only child for over 30 years. It took a while to sink in.”

“And what did you feel when it _sank in_?”

There was a harshness in Kate's voice that, even though John knew where it came from, he still couldn't quite understand. Even if Clara was a suspect in Kate's eyes, that didn't mean she had to be downright rude. “Kate, is this really relevant?”

She shushed him quickly and turned her attention back towards Clara. His boss wouldn't stop until she had received all the answers she wanted.

“I suppose I felt angry at my father for a bit, but mainly, I just don't know what I'm supposed to feel,” Clara admitted. “I didn't know Bonnie. I didn't even know she existed. I know I should probably be sad and I think it's not fair that she died so young, but even if we share the same DNA, I just don't feel connected to her in any way. Maybe in a few months or years, I'll start to regret that I never got the chance to know my twin, but right now, there's just nothing.”

“There,” John said and lifted his hands towards Clara, his eyes fixed on Kate, “you got your answer. You can let her go now.”

“Not so fast,” Kate said. John uttered a groan. How long would she keep up this pointless interview for? “Did you know that Bonnie was carrying a note with your address when her body was found?”

She nodded in reply. “Yes, John told me about that,” Clara explained. “But I don't know why she had it.”

“And where were you the night before Bonnie's body was found?”

Clara was clearly taken aback by the question and it didn't take a detective to know that right now, from Kate's point of view, Clara was still a suspect despite the answers she had already given.

“Okay, is that _really_ necessary?!” John demanded to know, looking right at his boss. She ignored him.

“I was at home,” Clara replied, frowning towards Kate. “Marking your daughter's homework.”

“Can anyone confirm that?”

Clara's confusion turned into anger in an instant and before John knew what was happening, Clara hissed at his boss. “I live in a house. Alone. In the middle of nowhere. You know very well that no one can confirm it!”

“We found bootprints on the coastline,” Kate went on, undeterred by Clara's reaction, “women's shoes in a size 5. They matched Bonnie's shoe size, but not the shoes she was wearing when she died. Given that you and your sister are very much alike, I'd say you wear the same size shoes.”

“I go for a walk there sometimes,” Clara replied defensively, yet John wasn't interested in what Clara had to say for herself right now.

He turned towards Kate. “You found bootprints? You never told me about that!”

Her head shot around and she outright glared at him. “It seems we're even now,” she remarked and then focused on Clara again. “What about Ciaran O'Neill?”

Now, Clara was frowning again. “That's the man who approached me in the hardware shop, isn't it?”

“Do you know him?” his boss wanted to know, her voice sharp. John was becoming increasingly impatient with the way Kate was treating Clara.

She hesitated before she replied, taking a couple of deep breaths. “No,” she replied eventually. Just for a second, her eyes didn't meet his or Kate's. Clara looked away and John knew she was lying. He didn't know why. He didn't think it was related to the case. But nevertheless, Clara was lying and if he could tell, so could Kate.

“Are you sure?” his boss demanded to know, bending forward just a little to get a closer look at Clara.

In response, she sighed heavily. “How much longer is this going to take?” Clara asked exasperatedly.

“Just one more question,” Kate replied and straightened her back. If John didn't know better, he would have thought she looked almost smug. “Tell us about Danny Pink.”

John didn't know what exactly he was seeing in Clara's eyes; there were too many emotions at once and he found it hard to tell them apart. There was anger in the way she glowered at Kate, there was also a profound sadness and when she rose from her seat, John felt genuinely surprised by the reaction to a simple name. He had no idea what to make of it.

“We're done here,” she announced and spun around on her heels. Clara had left the interview room before John even had the chance to stop her.


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been blushing since Saturday! Thank you so much for the lovely, kind, amazing comments you left on the last chapter (and the others, too, of course). They really made my day :) Which is why I don't want to let you wait any longer.

It didn't matter that Kate was yelling at him to stay, John could only think of one thing and nothing else mattered. It was the rage and the grief in her eyes that made him follow Clara through the police station corridors, but even as he shouted at her to wait for him, she didn't so much turn around or look back before heading outside. But John wasn't entirely helpless. After spending almost his entire life chasing after criminals, he had had a lot of time to practise running and by now, he was fairly good at it. Outside the building, he finally caught up with Clara and managed to reach for her arm.

“Clara, wait!” he exclaimed and when she turned around and shot him a dark look, John finally had a moment to catch his breath. Oddly enough, Clara seemed fine after the sprint, as if her anger had somehow fuelled her.

“I'm done with this… this… interrogation!” she barked at him. “I won't sit there and let her question everything I've done in the last thirty-three years of my life, especially not when it's none of her business!”

“That's okay, I understand that,” John reassured her and he noticed that Clara was trying to loosen his grip on her arm, trying to wriggle free. He let her go. “You don't have to go back in. Kate's questions were out of line.”

And yet Clara had lied to them. She had lied about Ciaran O'Neill. No matter how much John would like to ignore that part, he just couldn't. He cared about Clara, but he was still a detective. And then there was her reaction to another name, one he hadn't heard before. How on earth had Kate dug it up?

“Who is Danny Pink?” he wanted to know, curious more than anything else. John had thought he and Clara were beginning to get to know each other, he had even told her the story about his wife, so how come he hadn't heard that name before when it had provoked such a strong reaction from her?

Clara blinked and for a moment, John thought she was going to tell him. Yet as the sadness in her eyes turned back to anger, he realised that it wasn't going to happen. “I have to go,” she said and when she took off this time, John made no attempt to follow her.

The walk back to his office felt infinitely longer than the way out had seemed to him as he had rushed after Clara and it gave him time to think about everything that had happened. Kate was angry at him, he understood that and he understood why, but that was no reason to treat Clara like a criminal and when he reached for the door handle of Kate's office, his rage had had enough time to build up and he would tell her exactly what he thought of her behaviour.

“You were completely out of line in there!” John shouted before he had even properly entered the room.

“Shut the door, will you?!” Kate Stewart barked at him. “I have a lot of things to say and I'm sure you won't want the whole station to hear them!”

“Oh, _you_ have things to say?!” John scoffed, laughing as he did. “Well, one of those better be an apology to Clara or-”

“DI John Smith!” Kate's merciless voice cut through the air, interrupting him before he could finish this threat. “We are not friends! Right now, in this room, I am your boss. Do I make myself clear?!”

John paused for a second and looked at the furious woman in front of him and he realised to his dismay that she was right. Even though he had known Kate for decades, ever known her since his childhood, right now, she wasn't his friend. Kate was his superior whether he liked it or not. Then again, he had never really cared about how he spoke to his bosses. Why start now?

Nevertheless, John lowered his voice before he spoke. “The way you interrogated Clara was unnecessarily harsh,” he stated plainly. “She's as much a victim in this as Bonnie Moore and she doesn't need to be put through any more questioning. She came to look at the body, she agreed to a DNA sample. Why would you put her through even more? Why bring up the bootprints and Ciaran O'Neill and this Danny guy – whoever the hell he is?”

“Because Clara Oswald is lying,” Kate replied, her voice as sharp as a knife. When John looked at her, it was all the confirmation he needed to know that she had sensed it, too. “She lied about Ciaran O'Neill and if she lied about him, what else is she keeping from us? Did she know about Bonnie after all? And if she did, why hide it if she didn’t have anything to do with her death?”

“Clara had _nothing_ to do with her death!” John protested. He hadn't been sure of that at first, but the better he came to know Clara Oswald, the more convinced he became that she was innocent. There was nothing Kate could do to convince him otherwise because he _knew_ it was true.

In response, Kate started to laugh. “Oh, and how would you know?” she wanted to know. “Because you've known her for such a long time? You don't know her, John. No one really knows her. She's been living like a hermit ever since she moved here!”

“See, that's why!” John spat. “I've come to know her better in a couple of weeks than you have in six months because I know that Clara Oswald is close friends with Amy and Rory Williams.”

A part of him still couldn't believe why Kate was so insistent on blaming Clara for something she had no part in just because she didn't know her. Was it because she was new to this island? Was it still because John had kept the note from her? Why was she so adamant about Clara's involvement?

But instead of shouting back at him, Kate merely sighed. “John, this is a serious matter and you know I value you for your work as a detective-”

“This sounds like there's a massive _but_ coming,” he growled.

“But if you keep hindering the investigation and defending your girlfriend, I'm going to have to take you off the case.”

“Right,” John snorted, “this is ridiculous. Clara is not my girlfriend!”

“You were seen at the pub and coming out of the cinema together,” Kate argued sharply. “Even if she's not your girlfriend, you two are closer than you should be given that she's currently at the centre of a police investigation.”

John squinted his eyes at her, hardly able to believe what she was saying. “Have you been keeping me under surveillance?” he asked in disbelief.

“Oh, don't be silly, John, this is Kirkwall!” his boss spat. “There's no need for surveillance when everyone knows you! You can't even sneeze on this island without someone knowing about it!”

He let his shoulders sink when he realised that probably a dozen people had recognised him at the cinema and that Kate was absolutely right when she told him there was no need for surveillance, but what was he going to do about it? Meet Clara in secret? That would make it look even more suspicious. Stop seeing her altogether? That was out of the question because by now, it was fairly obvious even to him. Clara might not be his girlfriend, but a tiny part of him, silenced and locked away in a small corner of his heart, would absolutely not mind if she was.

“What about the bootprints?” John asked, raising his eyebrows at Kate. “You know more than you're telling me. Why? Do you want revenge for the note?”

There was a small flicker of anger in her eyes, but since John was making an effort at a civilised conversation, he assumed that Kate was doing the same thing even though they both knew they wanted to shout at each other. “The note was so much worse and you know it,” she replied. “The bootprints are just bootprints. They could belong to anyone. The note was a good hint and I absolutely agree with your theory that Bonnie probably came looking for Clara. But the question is this: did she find Clara before she died?”

John didn't believe it, but he knew that he wasn't going to convince Kate with words. He needed evidence for that. He uttered a sigh before he spoke. “Clara and I are… something like friends. She trusts me. I won't investigate her behind her back, but maybe in time, she will tell me why she lied about Ciaran O'Neill,” John concluded.

To his surprise, his boss started to laugh and she crossed her arms in front of her chest, now _definitely_ looking smug. “You think she trusts you, huh?” Kate said and from the tone of her voice, John knew that she was teasing him. “Then how come you didn't know about Danny Pink?”

“Why?” he spat. “Who is Danny Pink?”

“Why don't you ask her? After all, she trusts you.” Kate suggested as she made her way past him towards the door. “And just so you know, I _will_ investigate behind her back.”

When Kate left the room, John knew very well that Clara had now become her prime suspect and she would do everything in her power to prove her guilt. Even though John was certain that she wasn't going to find any proof, it spurred his determination and his own ego. He would find out what happened to Bonnie before Kate could and he knew exactly where to look next. But first, there was another question weighing on his mind and that was the identity of Danny Pink.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so much for all your kind words! And I don't want to keep you in suspense any longer. Now is the time for the truth...

Somehow, Clara had known that he would show up sooner rather than later, so she wasn't exactly surprised when the doorbell rang and John was standing on her doorstep, an apologetic look on his face and Odin in tow. The dog was happily wagging his tail at her. How could she say no to them like that?

A few minutes later, John was sitting on the sofa next to her, stirring his tea and Odin was licking the remaining crumbs off the floor where Clara had laid out some treats. In her heart, she knew that she had overreacted earlier by storming out of the interview room and she knew that she could trust John with her story. Who could she trust with it if not him when he had gone through a very similar thing? John, too, had lost someone and Clara could feel that the time had come to tell him.

“I know you've come here to ask about Danny Pink,” she remarked after a while, her eyes on Odin who was now licking his muzzle instead of the floor.

“You don't have to tell me if you don't want to,” John replied almost instantly, but she could tell from his voice that he would very much like to hear her story.

Clara exhaled sharply and lifted her head. It was strange to think about Danny. It had been over a year now and some days, Clara felt almost ready to move on until she remembered why she couldn't. His death still made her sad and it still made her angry and it would continue to do so. She couldn't leave it behind just yet. “Danny was my partner… my fiancé,” she explained carefully and glanced towards John who looked as if he had suspected as much. “He died about a year ago.”

There was a brief moment of silence and Clara assumed he was thinking about his dead wife before he reached across the sofa and took her hand. For such a tall, strong man his touch was surprisingly gentle and his skin was warm even though the way he held her hand was somewhat awkward. It would have made her smile if it hadn't been for the story she was about to tell him.

“I'm sorry,” John said sincerely. “You know I am.”

Clara nodded. “That's why I'm telling you. Because you understand,” she explained. The memories of the period right after Danny's death came back. The memories of her family and her former friends back in London. “I hate talking about it, I hate people knowing about it. On this island, I've only ever told Amy.”

In response, a small frown appeared on John's face. “Why? He died, it wasn't your fault. I mean, I assume it wasn't.”

No, it wasn't. Someone else was responsible for that.

“It's the way people look at you,” Clara replied sadly. “Like you're made of glass, like you're about to break just because you've lost someone. All of my friends, everyone at work, they all treated me differently after the accident. Well, I'm not some fragile piece of china you have to wrap up in bubble wrap, I'm still Clara.”

“That's why you left London,” he concluded. “To start a new life, leave everything behind.”

Once again, she nodded. Clara had known he would understand. “I still miss him, that hasn't changed, but at least people don't give me those looks anymore.”

To her surprise, John started to chuckle. She felt him squeeze her hand a little bit more tightly. “You know what?” he said, smiling at her. “You're an incredibly strong woman. You've lost your mother, your grandmother, your fiancé and now this.”

He didn't have to elaborate. Clara knew that he was talking about Bonnie.

“I know it's hard for people like us,” John went on, “but it's okay to show a little weakness from time to time. Trust me, I learned that the hard way.”

Even though Clara knew that he was right, she still squinted her eyes at him as if in doubt. “I hate showing weakness,” she confessed. “I'd much rather have it all under control.”

That made John laugh. “I get that,” he replied, but then, the smile slowly faded from his lips until it was gone completely. It was replaced by a sombre, thoughtful expression and Clara became increasingly aware that he was still holding her hand. Right now, with him, she didn't mind at all. John was different somehow. He was like her. “How did he die?”

Clara swallowed. “It was a hit and run,” she told him truthfully. “It happened when he was crossing the road. They never caught the driver. Apparently, Danny was trying to push someone else out of the way.”

John shook his head, as if he couldn't believe the ineptitude of the police who had tried and failed to catch Danny's killer or as if he was thinking that it was unfair how her boyfriend had died to save someone else. “Were you angry?”

His question provoked a frown from her. “Of course I was angry,” she replied and right now, his touch was beginning to bother her. Clara pulled her hand back. “I think I have every right to be.”

“You do,” John confirmed, “but that doesn't mean you should let it consume you. I know what I'm talking about. I've lived through it and what you're doing, the running away, the hiding, the avoiding-”

“I'm just trying to live my life!” Clara hissed a little more defensively than she had intended.

Yet in response, John merely cocked his eyebrows at her and she knew that he saw right through her. She couldn't tell him her real story, not all of it, not yet. John wasn't ready to hear it. But Clara realised that she couldn't lie to him either.

“I never told you the whole story about how my wife died,” John went on, sighing deeply. It was a sad sound even after so much time had passed and right now, Clara wasn't sure whether he regretted her death or what had happened after. “Because the truth is, she didn't just die. She disappeared in Egypt.”

“Disappeared?” Clara enquired. “Disappeared how?”

John shrugged. “I don't know. One day, the excavation site was raided and she was gone.”

For a moment, Clara felt a little confused. The last time they had talked about it, John had told her that his wife had died in Egypt. Or rather, he had said that she had never come home. Now that she thought about it, John hadn't actually told her what had happened to his wife at all.

“Did you look for her?” she wanted to know.

Again, John scoffed. “I looked everywhere,” he admitted. “I travelled to Egypt and the surrounding countries many times. I questioned people. I turned over every single stone for just a hint. I didn't want to believe it and my… inability to accept that she was gone almost cost me everything. My job, my friends, my savings… everything.”

Clara hadn't known John for that long, but she could tell that he was determined and she could very well imagine what he must have been like after his wife's disappearance. Someone like John wouldn't just give up. He was right. They were more alike than Clara had realised because she wouldn't have given up either and if there was a chance that Danny was still alive, that there was a chance he could come home – Clara wouldn't rest until she had him back.

“Because I couldn't let go, I let a lot of people down,” John went on. There were traces of anger in his voice, but this time, it seemed directed at himself. “People who needed my help. And I realised that I was the failure my father had always expected me to be, but that didn't stop me.”

“What made you stop?”

At last, John started to laugh again. “I ran out of money,” he admitted and for a second, Clara laughed with him. “I had to go back home. I had to grovel at my boss' feet so he would take me back, but he didn't want an apology or a promise that I would change. He said he would only take me back if I admitted, openly admitted, that River was dead.”

Clara raised her eyebrows at him. “And you did?”

John shook his head. “I told him to stick his truncheon where the sun doesn't shine,” he deadpanned.

“No, you didn't,” she gasped.

“Oh, I did,” John said with a sigh. “It wasn't until I got home that I realised he was right. That all that was keeping me from living my life was the fact that I couldn't accept what had happened. And then I did.”

“What? Just like that?” It sounded too easy, too good to be true. And yet John nodded as if it was exactly just that easy. Clara lowered her eyes and looked at her own two feet. “I don't know if I've actually accepted Danny's death. I don't think so.”

“You will. In time,” John replied and it sounded as if he believed it.

“Thank you,” Clara whispered and at the spur of the moment, she leaned forward and closed her arms around his neck in a hug. John uttered a sound of surprise, but he didn't fight the embrace and Clara was grateful for it. There was something warm about him, something that made her feel safe and it was a feeling she hadn't known for a long time. “I knew you'd understand.”

In response, John awkwardly patted her back and Clara had to refrain from laughing as he did so until she decided to release him from the surprise hug. As she let go, it felt a little as if at least a small amount of the weight had dropped off her shoulders. It felt better than it had before because it was a burden they both shared.

“It's true what I said,” John said and for a moment, Clara had no idea what he was talking about. “While I was busy with my own grief, I let many people down, but I'm trying to make up for that. I'm going to find out what happened to your sister and I hope that it'll bring you a little peace.”

She had already thanked him, so Clara decided that this time, she was just going to give him a grateful smile because that was what she was – grateful.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely comments, guys!!!
> 
> We've now reached half time and the plot thickens...

His expectations for the following Monday were low. John didn't know what exactly to expect, but even after Kate had had her way and interviewed Clara, he doubted that it had improved her mood. No, it was highly likely that Kate Stewart was still mad at him and still determined to treat Clara as a suspect. What he really hadn't expected, however, was to find her waiting in front of his office when he walked into the building.

“Got an arrest warrant for Clara yet?” he hissed, his voice dripping with malice as he walked past Kate without even giving her a glance. Despite the fact that he tried very hard not to pay attention to her, her dark looks didn't escape his notice.

With a sigh, she followed him into the office, but didn’t say a word.

Once the door closed behind her, John turned around, examining her silently. His boss was mad enough, but there was something else he spotted, a file she carried under her arm that told him she had probably done some research during the weekend. Whatever the contents of that were, Kate didn't seem eager to share it with him straight away, so John decided to go ahead with what he intended to say.

“You shouldn't have asked Clara about Danny Pink,” John told her, his voice sharp and his words as blunt as possible. In response, she merely cocked an eyebrow at him. It was so typical. Right now, Kate was a detective first and foremost and even though John thought he was bad when it came to forgetting about basic human decency during an interview, Kate was worse. “Clara lost her boyfriend, that was bound to be a sore spot. Frankly, I don't blame her for walking out.”

“She told you about Danny then?” his boss wanted to know.

“Of course she told me,” John said, his voice defensive. “We're friends, I told you that. What I don't get is why you felt the need to ask about her loss in the middle of her interview when it clearly has nothing to do with the case.”

Kate's eyebrows shot up as if she still didn't believe it, as if she was still clinging to her insane theory that Clara knew what happened to her sister. Yet she didn't say a word as she stepped forward and thrust the file against his chest. John caught it at the last moment before the pages could drop to the floor. “I guess she didn't tell you everything,” Kate spat. “And if you still insist that her boyfriend's death has nothing to do with Bonnie after reading this, think again. Or reconsider your professional choices.”

John didn't understand. Frowning first at Kate, then at the file, he opened the first page and realised that it had been sent up from London and that it was everything about Danny Pink's accident. To read it properly, John sat down on the nearest chair and started to skim through the pages Kate had given him. There it was, the story of Danny's accident in black and white. Just like Clara had told him, he had crossed one of the less busy roads in London when a car had appeared out of nowhere. Witness accounts differed, but most of them agreed that the car wouldn't have hit him at all. Instead, it had aimed at a young woman also crossing the road at the same time and Danny had tried to push her out of the car's path. Later on, she had vanished and descriptions only mentioned a woman in her thirties with long, brown hair. John scoffed. It was quite typical for people to forget or not pay attention to details after witnessing a man's death. Danny had died at the scene. He had died saving a stranger's life.

After finishing the report, John looked up at Kate. “That's exactly what Clara told me. Why are you showing me this?” he wanted to know.

“Read on,” she told him. “Look at the list of people they questioned about the accident. I think you'll find a familiar name on there.”

John turned the pages until he found what he was looking for and his eyes skimmed over the list. He wasn't particularly good with names, so none of them jumped out at him until-

“Ciaran O'Neill,” he breathed and raised his head again. Kate looked as if she had figured it out days ago, as if she knew even more. “Ciaran O'Neill was there. Why?”

“It gets better,” Kate said even though it was clear from the tone of her voice that 'better' was probably not the right word for it. In fact, he was fairly certain the word Kate had been meaning to use was 'worse'.

With his patience at an end, John rose from his seat to be at eye level with his boss. He exhaled sharply. “Okay, tell me what you know,” he demanded. “Who is this Ciaran O'Neill and what does he have to do with Clara?”

Before she spoke, Kate took a deep breath. “From what I can tell from the files, nothing,” she said. “But the police in London suspect that he might be a member of the IRA.”

“What?!” John barked in disbelief. “That doesn't make sense!”

It didn't. No matter how John aligned the pieces of this particular puzzle in his head, it just wouldn't become a recognizable picture. The IRA was known for their killings, but this didn't fit. “Why would the IRA target a maths teacher from London? And why not take the credit for it after?”

“Did you even read the file?!” Kate asked, the anger audible in her voice. “Danny Pink wasn't the target, he was just collateral damage. They were aiming for the woman, the one who disappeared! A woman in her thirties with brown hair.”

John scoffed. “Alright, I know what you're thinking and it's ridiculous. It couldn't have been Clara. She's as much a likely target for the IRA as her boyfriend is.”

“I don't know what I'm thinking!” Kate shouted at him and John twitched at the sudden increase in volume. “This case doesn't make any kind of sense! What I do know is that we had a likely member of the IRA in our interview room and we had to let him go because _you_ withheld evidence!”

“What does the note have to do with any of this?!” John barked at her. Yes, he had screwed up in holding back the note, but Kate couldn't blame him for this, especially not because he had insisted that something about Ciaran O'Neill was wrong.

“The note was what made me look into Clara's past in the first place,” his boss argued, her anger flaring up even more. “If you had shown it to me sooner, I would have known about Danny Pink and I would've made sure to ask O'Neill a couple more questions about his little hobby.”

“The files say there was no evidence!” he argued after taking another glance. “He was only a suspect! And once again, why would the IRA not take the credit for a kill? It doesn't make sense!”

“Nothing about this case makes sense to me yet!” Kate shouted back at him. “But we know that Danny wasn't their target. Maybe, if – and that's a big if – Ciaran O'Neill really is responsible, they had something else on their agenda, something that went wrong when Danny Pink got in the way.”

John wasn't convinced. The theory sounded too far-fetched for his liking. Usually, the cases he worked were straightforward, easy, with a clear motive. This was something else. 

He heard Kate inhale sharply. “Okay, let's assume Ciaran O'Neill is a member of the IRA-”

“Which we can't prove.”

His boss ignored his interruption. “Let's assume his mission was to kill the woman Danny Pink saved and to kill her quietly, not because they wanted to provoke anything but because of some other reason. Clara Oswald knows the name Ciaran O'Neill and she lied to us about it.”

John scoffed. “You can't be serious.”

She shrugged. “Fact is, Ciaran O'Neill is now here, someone broke into Clara's house, he approached her and you-”

“He also likely killed her sister!” John argued loudly.

“You argued that the IRA never took the credit for Danny's death. Maybe it was because they had nothing to do with it, but maybe they wanted to keep it quiet because their target was still at large. Now, a man who was questioned about the death is here and a second death has happened – both have one thing in common and that's a connection to Clara. What if she's the target?”

“What if Bonnie was?!” he spat back at her. “She's from Belfast! She's more likely to have ties to the IRA than a teacher from Blackpool!”

“Again, they never took the credit.”

John uttered a heavy sigh. As much as he liked the fact that Clara Oswald didn't seem to be at the top of Kate’s list of suspects any longer, he liked this second theory even less because it meant that Clara's life was in danger. And a part of him still didn't think that they were anywhere close to solving this mess.

“I need a cup of coffee,” Kate announced as she blew the air out between her teeth. “And then we should talk about this theory with the rest of the team.”

Because he knew that he didn't have another choice, John merely nodded and slowly followed Kate into the direction of the kitchen. There was something about this case that was different from anything he had ever worked on before and maybe Kate's insane theory had a bit of truth to it, but he just couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe a scenario that put Clara in the middle of this.


	31. Chapter 31

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is something odd about Clara's secrets, the IRA involvement and the unknown twin sister, isn't there? Let's see how that continues...
> 
> Thank you guys so much for all your lovely comments :)

At the end of every school day, Clara took a moment to tidy up her desk. It wasn't so much that it _needed_ tidying, but she just liked to return to a well-organised workspace the following morning and usually, it gave her students an opportunity to talk to her after class. Today, however, it wasn't a student that walked up to her desk, but one of the parents and as soon as Clara raised her head to see who it was, she knew that it wouldn't be about school.

Clara straightened her back and shoulders, trying to look as tall as possible even though there was no way she would ever tower over Kate Stewart. “Hi,” she greeted her with as much determination as she could muster. The interview was still on Clara's mind, along with the memory of not having made the best impression. “What I can do for you? If you're looking for the kids, they finished school an hour ago.”

Kate granted her a smile in response. “They're at home already,” she explained. Then, she lowered her gaze as if she was somehow embarrassed. “My partner pointed out that I was a little insensitive during your interview and I wanted to apologise for that.”

When the detective raised her head, Clara waited for a moment, thinking that surely something would follow, but Kate remained silent. Clara nodded. “A little, yes,” she replied, but the tone of her voice gave away what she really thought, that bringing up Danny had been completely out of line.

“You have to understand that we want to find out what happened to your sister and until we can safely say that it was an accident, we have to investigate every possibility. Do you understand that?”

She understood. She understood Kate's words very well. As long as they hadn't figured it out, Clara would remain a suspect. Kate's message was very clear on that part and frankly, she could understand why. She was the sister, she had no alibi and then there was the mysterious note in Bonnie's pocket. Kate would be stupid to rule her out as a suspect.

“I understand,” she replied simply. “And I hope you find out what happened to my sister. I didn't know her, but that doesn't mean I don't care about what happened to her.”

“We're doing our best,” Kate reassured her and then Clara watched as she let her gaze wander around the room. Instinctively, she followed the detective's eyes as she looked at the posters that lined the walls. They were students' works, of course, posters about cities from all over the world from New York to Sydney. Then, Kate's eyes stopped at one poster in particular. “I've been to Belfast once, a couple of years back. Dreadful city. How about you?”

Clara shook her head. She knew exactly what Kate was doing and it wouldn't work. When it came to that, Clara had nothing to hide. “No, never been,” she said.

“Do you don't have friends or family there?”

For a brief moment, Clara wondered if the amusement was visible on her face. “Well, there's Bonnie, but you know that story.”

“Yeah,” Kate replied eventually. “I know.”

When she fell silent, Clara assumed that the detective had run out of questions to ask and she realised that their conversation was about to come to an end. To save them both time, Clara decided to cut the goodbye short.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” she wanted to know.

Kate considered it for a moment. “Not really, no,” she said. “I mainly came by to apologise for… you know.”

No matter how often she said it, Clara somehow knew that it wasn't the truth. Of course, the apology would restore the peace at the office, but mainly, Kate had come here to remind Clara that she was still a suspect until further notice.

“I appreciate it,” Clara said regardless because not accepting the apology would only cause more trouble and she wasn't keen on that. She shouldn't be a source of tension between John and Kate. That wouldn't help the investigation or John's career.

When Kate Stewart left, Clara gathered her things, stuffed them into her bag and headed outside to where her motorcycle was already waiting for her. Even though the weather was nice for a February day, a part of her already longed for spring just so she could leave the thick gloves and winter jacket at home and just enjoy the ride without worrying about losing all feeling in her thighs in the icy wind.

Her thoughts about her freezing legs kept her occupied during the ride home, but as soon as she arrived at her house, Clara suddenly forgot all about it and it didn't take her very long to notice that something was off. If someone had asked her what had given it away, Clara wouldn't have known what to say because first and foremost, it was her instinct that tipped her off, a weird feeling in her gut that let her know something had happened.

Clara parked the motorcycle next to the house, took off her helmet and approached the house with careful steps, slowly inching closer bit by bit. From the outside, it looked almost normal as if nothing at all had happened, but soon, Clara noticed the bush under her window. It was winter and the twigs were empty of leaves, but some of them had been broken, as though they’d been trampled. Then her eyes wandered up to the open window. Someone had broken in again.

Clutching her helmet in her right hand, determined to use it as a weapon if necessary, Clara stepped inside. She couldn't hear a thing except for her own breathing and the sound of the wind coming in through the open window. No steps, no rustling, just nothing at all.

Once she had convinced herself that the house was indeed empty apart from herself, Clara walked towards the window and closed it properly, noticing a few marks where the intruder had pried it open and suddenly, she felt grateful that he hadn't broken it like he had broken her lock. The window must have been open for quite a long time because as she made her way deeper into the house, Clara noticed that it wasn't any warmer in here than it was outside and finally, she felt confident enough to place the helmet aside. It was then that she spotted it.

In her living room, on the empty coffee table, lay a single note and the piece of paper instantly caught her attention. She approached the table to read it and her heart sank a little because what it demanded was the one thing she could never do.

_I know you have it._  
_Give it to me and no one else will get hurt._


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clara is hiding something, but it may not be quite what you think ;)
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments :)

As Clara sipped her tea, careful not to burn her tongue on the hot beverage, she became increasingly aware that someone was watching her. Under normal circumstances, it would have made her uneasy, but as it was, she merely turned her head and smiled at the girl standing awkwardly next to the sofa.

“Hi Melody,” she said softly. “How are you doing?”

The child remained quiet for a moment and slowly averted her eyes, looking from Clara back to her mother. She didn't seem particularly happy. “Mum,” she began, “don't you think it's weird to invite my teacher over for tea?”

Amy laughed in response. Melody was only ten and normally Clara taught the older children, but a shortage of teachers had forced her and the school to improvise. Clearly, Melody wasn't thrilled with the setup, at least not when her mother was friends with her teacher.

The child shrieked in surprise when Amy suddenly reached out and lifted her daughter onto her lap. “Why?” she asked, her Scottish accent audible. “Don't you like Clara? I think she's nice.”

“She's my _teacher_ ”, the girl argued moodily.

“Well, I'm not a teacher right now,” Clara explained. “Trust me, when I leave that building, I'm just about as eager as you to go back inside. But don't tell the others.”

“Is that why you always take so long to mark our homework?” Melody enquired curiously.

Clara chuckled in response. “That's exactly why,” she replied and leaned forward just a little, looking straight at Melody. “I promise, I've got better things to talk to your mum about than how you're doing at school. No need to worry.”

That finally seemed to ease the girl's mind and her features lit up a little. A few seconds later, she jumped off her mother's lap and darted out of the living room. Once they were on their own again, Clara raised her tea mug to her lips and considered her options. She had come here for a reason, but she wasn't quite sure how to approach the topic without arousing suspicion.

“Okay, promises aside. How _is_ she doing at school?” Amy wanted to know.

Clara couldn't help but laugh. When she had arrived here, she had felt nervous and frightened and her friend had lightened the mood without even knowing that something was wrong. “Melody's doing well,” she explained. “There's not much else I can say. You've seen her homework.”

“True,” her friend agreed, not without a smug look on her face. “I'm raising a little genius.”

Clara wouldn't go that far, but she wasn't in the mood to burst her friend's bubbles tonight. Besides, Amy wasn't the kind of parent who would praise her child if praise wasn't warranted. When Clara failed to reply, Amy must have noticed that something was off and she squinted her eyes at her.

“You didn't come here for a cup of tea and a chat, did you?” her friend wanted to know.

Clara forced a smile. “That was the main reason,” she lied. The main reason was not having to stay at her house on her own. The second break-in and the note were still on Clara's mind.

At last, Amy reached for her teacup as well and sipped the drink, but she never took her eyes off Clara even for a second. “And the other reason?” she wanted to know.

Clara inhaled deeply. “Remember the box I gave you?”

Her friend nodded. “You mean Danny's love letters? The ones that you gave me so you wouldn't be tempted to read them every single day?”

She smiled at her friend. “I need that box back,” Clara stated plainly. It couldn't stay here with Amy.

However, her friend seemed to have a different opinion as she set her mug down on the table. The sound it made when the ceramic hit the wooden surface was audible in the quiet living room. Then, Amy sighed and Clara could tell that a long conversation was to follow. “Clara, you gave them to me cause you said it hurt to look at them,” she said. “It's only been a couple of weeks. Don't you think I should… you know, keep them safe for you for a while longer? Do you really think you're ready?”

“That's not the point,” she protested. “They're mine and I want them back.”

Amy hesitated for a while and it looked as if she would continue to try to talk her out of it, but eventually, she uttered a heavy sigh and rose from her seat. Clara watched as her friend crossed the room and opened a cupboard from which she retrieved the metal box Clara had given her a couple of weeks ago. She had kept the key, hidden away in a safe place in her house. But nothing was safe inside her house, not anymore, least of all Clara herself.

“Ugh,” Amy uttered, “I had forgotten how heavy it was. Danny must have been one hell of a writer.”

Her friend dropped the box on the sofa next to where Clara was sitting and instinctively, she reached out to touch it as if someone would appear out of nowhere and snatch it away from her.

“Thank you,” Clara said sincerely. “I really appreciate that you kept hold of it for me.”

“Don't mention it,” Amy replied with a shrug. However, her eyes remained focused on Clara and she waited for a moment until she asked the question she had really been meaning to ask all along. “How are you doing?”

In response, Clara blew the air out between her teeth. “I'm not sure,” she said truthfully. “I mean, I guess I'm coping as well as I can, given the circumstances. With Bonnie being my sister and all.”

Amy's gaze was boring into her. “Still mad at your dad? I mean, I'd understand if you were. That's a big secret to keep.”

She didn't respond because she didn't know how to. Her father was the least of her worries right now. All Clara wanted was for the nightmare to be over.

“And what about the detective?” Amy enquired.

“Which one?”

A smile appeared on Amy's face. “You know exactly which one.”

John Smith was a big part of why she wanted this chapter of her life to be over. Clara liked him, she really did. He was kind, and in his presence she felt understood and protected. Of course, Amy and her other friends and family members could speak about how they could relate, but they couldn't, not really. John was the only one who could thanks to what he had been through and as long as the case remained open, Clara felt as if she was using him. Bonnie's death, as long as the mystery remained unsolved, felt like a wall between them.

“He's a big help,” Clara replied eventually. “If anyone can solve this, I'm sure it's him.”

It was obvious from the look on her face that it wasn't the answer her friend had wanted to hear, but Clara didn't care as her gaze wandered to the heavy box next to her. It couldn't stay with Amy and Clara didn't exactly feel confident enough to take it home. Unknowingly, her friend had given her the perfect idea and now, Clara knew exactly what to do.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What is really in the box that Clara retrieved from Amy and what is John going to say to her? Let's have a look!
> 
> And a big group hug for all you amazing commenters! Thank you so much for your continuing support :)

Odin barked before the doorbell rang and John was surprised, to say the least. Other than Kate and Clara, he didn't get an awful lot of visitors and he knew instantly that it could only be one of them, but when he opened the door, he could tell that something had happened. Clara was smiling at him, but there was something strange about the look on her face. She was smiling, but her eyes were sad. It was as if she was having two emotions at once.

“Hey,” she almost whispered and her smile widened. “I know it's kinda late, but could I come in?”

Naturally, John held the door open a little wider and waited for Clara to step inside his house. When she looked around curiously, he realised that she had never actually been inside before and she was probably judging the interior. He cleared his throat. “Um, sorry about the state of the place,” he apologised.

Clara turned around to face him, still smiling. “No worries,” she reassured him. “You've only just moved in. I assume a place like this takes a lot of time and work.”

“Lots and lots of work,” John remarked, chuckling. “But at least I've taken down all the football posters. That's something.”

At last, Clara bent down to give the dog some attention and she rubbed his ears as a way of saying hello. As she whispered to Odin, John was reminded that Clara had probably come here for a reason and he wanted to know what it was.

“So, uh, how about I make a cup of tea and we can sit in the living room and talk?” he suggested carefully.

Clara's head shot back up, but Odin nudged her with his nose when she stopped petting him, so she continued. “I've only just had a cup.”

He shrugged.

“Okay, good point,” she agreed. “I'll have one, thanks.”

 

When John returned to the living room a few minutes later armed with two mugs, he found Clara on the sofa. She was still looking around the place in curiosity and her hand absent-mindedly patted Odin's head. The dog had curled up on the sofa next to her, his head in her lap.

“Odin,” John reminded the animal sternly as he set the mugs down on the coffee table, “we discussed the sofa issue.”

In reply, the dog looked like the most innocent creature in the entire world.

“Oh, is he not allowed on the sofa?” Clara asked. “I didn't know. He just jumped up, so I thought it was okay.”

With a sigh, John lowered himself on the spot next to Clara, still giving the dog a stern look. Odin seemed utterly undeterred. Knowing that he was defeated for now, John decided to focus on Clara instead. He raised his head and looked at her. “Did something happen?” he wanted to know. “I mean, I'm sure there's a reason for your visit.”

Clara grinned at him in response. “A cup of tea and a nice chat, that's the reason,” she said cheerfully, but John didn't buy it. It was her eyes. There was something about them today and it wasn't the usual sadness. She was nervous somehow – as if something had frightened her.

“Liar,” John growled playfully and smiled back at her.

“Damn, Detective, you've seen right through me,” she joked, giggling a little. When the smile had faded from her lips, she looked at him in earnest. “I've come to ask you a little favour.”

“Well, go ahead,” he prompted her. “Ask anything you want.”

He watched as Clara took a deep breath before she reached into her bag and pulled out a little box. It was quite small, definitely too small to contain a treasure or something similar to that, but nevertheless, it seemed to be secured by a lock. Odin gave it a sniff, but soon realised it didn't hold any treats and lowered his head again. “This box contains some important documents,” Clara explained.

“You mean like documents concerning the house and bank matters?”

She hesitated but eventually smiled. “Stuff like that,” she replied and then lowered her head to look at the metal container. “After the break-in, I wasn't sure what to do with it. If I lost this, if it got stolen, that would be extremely bad.”

John chuckled. “Well, that lock wouldn't exactly stop a determined thief, that's true,” he remarked, but when Clara didn't laugh, he realised that it was a serious matter for her. He shouldn't joke about it because, whatever it was, it was very important to her. “I have a safe, I can put it in there if you like.”

At once, Clara seemed visibly relieved and to show her that he meant it, John took the box out of her hands and rose from the sofa. He crossed the room until he reached the cupboard his father had installed when John was still a child. As he opened it and slid the wooden back panel aside, the hidden safe finally came into view. John didn't store a lot of things in there, mainly the same things Clara had just handed him and after he locked it again, he turned around with a proud grin on his face. “There,” he said, “that's what really stops a thief.”

Clara smiled at him in return. “That's really handy,” she remarked. “I should get one of those. Thank you for helping me.”

Again, John shrugged in response. “Thank my father's paranoia. No one's ever broken into this house,” he said as he sank back down on the sofa. “At least not to my knowledge. Then again, who'd try to rob a police detective?”

Her smile widened. That was what she was counting on. “Exactly.”

Not knowing what to respond, John decided to remain silent and instead, he watched Clara for a moment. She seemed relieved, yes, but there was something on her mind, he could tell and he doubted that coming here had been a spontaneous idea. Something must have happened. If handing him the documents had been her goal, Clara would have suggested leaving straight after or at least struck up a conversation. However, she still remained where she was and John would have loved to believe that it was because she liked his company.

“Is this about the break-in or has something else happened?” John enquired cautiously. He knew what Clara was like; he knew she hated to show weakness.

She bit down on her lip, stalling, obviously undecided whether she should share something with him or not. Now he really had to know.

“Clara, if something happened, you can tell me,” he reassured her and reached out to take her hand. She had let him the last time.

“When I got home, someone had pried open the window,” she admitted eventually. “There was another break-in.”

When John tried to jump up from the sofa, Clara held him back by holding on to his wrist and she swiftly pulled him back down. “Relax, nothing was taken,” she added.

Yet John didn't feel like relaxing at all. Quite the contrary. “Someone broke into your home,” he replied, his voice urgent. “And I'm betting it was the same person!”

“I know!” Clara half yelled at him. “But he was gone when I got home.”

“That doesn't make it okay to break into someone's house! What if you had been there?! What if he tries again when you're actually at home?! Anything could happen to you!”

The thought about it almost drove him to distraction. He had to do something about it. He had to catch whoever had done it. He had to protect Clara from whatever that person wanted to do to her. The best solution would be to go to the police station right now and start a search for the culprit.

When Clara didn't reply, John looked straight into her eyes and for the first time, he saw the fear in them. The uneasiness he had spotted before, the worry, but Clara was afraid no matter how hard she was trying to be brave. At last, to see that on her face finally calmed him down.

“I'm going to catch him,” John promised her. It had to be Ciaran O'Neill. Whatever connection he had with Clara or Bonnie or Danny, it just had to be him and John would prove it. “I promise, I'm going to find whoever broke into your home and I'm going to protect you from him.”

Finally, Clara managed a smile. “You're keeping the documents safe,” she replied. “That’s already a huge relief.”

“Never mind the documents! It's you that I need to keep safe!”

“I don't need police protection!” Clara argued. “It was a break-in, nothing was stolen, I-”

She broke off when John took her hand in both of his and squeezed it tightly. He didn't even want to let go. Somehow, Clara had found a way into his heart and he wasn't going to let her down, he wasn't going to let anything happen to her.

“I'm a police detective,” he said sincerely. “I have a duty of care and I'm going to do everything within my power to protect you whether you want me to or not. You're an innocent woman and you're afraid because someone broke into your home. That makes it my business, so will you finally stop protesting and accept my help? And above all, will you admit that you're scared? Because you have every right to be.”

Clara exhaled slowly and looked at him for a long moment, their eyes locked. John was afraid to look away, afraid it would undo the progress he had made with her, afraid she would let go of his hand and pull away, but then the most unexpected thing of all happened. Clara leaned forward and John was too surprised by the gesture to evade her when her lips met the corner of his mouth where she placed a soft kiss. His heart started hammering in his chest, but before John had even realised what was happening, Clara pulled away and smiled at him. He had no idea what to say. The kiss, however short and innocent it had been, had scrambled his mind completely.

“You're right,” she admitted at last. “I am scared. I don't know whether the intruder will come back and I don't want to be there when he does.”

She breathed out and John could tell how nervous she was all of a sudden. He tried his best to focus, he tried to find the best way to help her, but all he could think about was how Clara had kissed the corner of his lips. The image, the feeling of it was right there in his mind, drowning out everything else.

“You don't happen to have a guest bedroom where I could stay tonight, do you?” Clara asked hopefully and at last, John shook himself from his trance. She was scared and lonely and in need of his help. The kiss had been one of gratitude.

Finally, John managed to smile. “Of course,” he said sincerely. “There's one just down the hall and Odin will make an excellent guard dog. Nothing's going to happen to you here.”

“Thank you,” Clara replied, her voice and her expression brimming with gratefulness. “I appreciate it.”

John chuckled because he didn't know what else to do. “Duty of care, remember?”


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John is hunting for clues. Will he find one at last?
> 
> Thank you guys so much for the lovely comments :)

A part of him had been excited to have Clara stay in his guest bedroom and John had lain awake last night, thinking about her sleeping next door, thinking about what he should offer her for breakfast, thinking about the short kiss she had given him. It had been an unexpected gesture, but certainly not an unwelcome one because John still felt his skin tingle whenever he revisited the brief moment their lips had touched. However, he knew better than to expect too much because it probably meant nothing at all. Clara was still grieving for her boyfriend and John knew exactly what that was like, so the short kiss couldn't have been more than a gesture of gratitude. Nevertheless, he vowed to make an effort.

Needless to say, John was a little disappointed when the morning came and he left his bedroom to find that Clara was already awake and looked ready to leave. He asked if she would like some breakfast, but she seemed more evasive than ever and declined his offer. In fact, it seemed almost like she was a different person than the one he had talked to last night and he had no idea why that was, but it caused his heart sink into his boots to see her like that. John knew that Clara had a lot to worry about, a lot to deal with, but he still wished that she would let him in because he wanted nothing more than to help her. But after he had driven her home, Clara merely thanked him for his help and John could do nothing but watch as she vanished inside her house, not even taking him up on his offer to have a look at the signs of the most recent break-in.

With a heavy heart, John started the engine of his car and turned around, Clara and the previous night still on his mind. When he had begun the investigation into Bonnie's death, he had assumed it would be an ordinary case, a case like any other which he had solved back in London, but John had soon realised that it was anything but. He never grew emotionally attached to the victims, but Clara was different somehow, just as the case was different, and he knew that there were connections he wasn't seeing yet. How else would this all make sense?

He didn't drive straight to the station that morning, because he had other plans. He needed to figure out how and when Bonnie had arrived on the island because he hoped it would give him more insight as to what she had wanted here. His first stop was the airport and after introducing himself, John was led into a neat looking office where a woman told him that no passenger by the name of Bonnie Moore had arrived on this island in recent months. A little disappointed, he thanked her for her time and moved on.

The harbour was colder than the rest of the island and an icy wind ruffled his hair the moment John left the shelter of his car. Pulling up the collar of his coat to at least keep his neck warm, he crossed the car park as the sea air filled his nose and John remembered his own arrival on this island all too vividly. A stormy evening, a rough crossing, the thoughts about his dead father weighing him down every step of the way until Kate had greeted him at the harbour with the house keys and a wet dog. What had he expected upon returning to Scotland? Right now, John couldn't even say, but it certainly hadn't been a dead woman and his growing feelings for a local school teacher. He was relieved when he finally reached the door to the ferry terminal and stepped inside the building.

An old man looked up from his newspaper and John assumed that he should have retired years ago, but when he smiled, John recognised him.

“Wilf,” he said, smiling back at him. “Still here, I see.”

Wilfred Mott threw the papers aside and rose from his seat behind the counter. “Damn right, I'm still here,” he replied in a pretend hurt tone. “I was here when you and that Saxon brat stole the _Sea Whore_ and I will be here until they carry me out on a stretcher.”

John grinned at the old man. He had been a young worker on shift that night when he and his childhood friend Missy had stolen a dinghy and Wilfred had brought them back, but he hadn't snitched on them, not once – even though he had Missy had caused a lot of mischief around the harbour.

“I heard you'd come back,” the man went on. “I was waiting for you to come and say hello to an old friend.”

“Hello, old friend,” John said sincerely, still beaming at Wilf. Now that he came to think about it, not everything about this island was bad or gloomy. Wilfred Mott was one of the people he had actually missed.

All of a sudden, Wilf raised his eyebrows and looked at John with suspicion. “You didn't actually come here to say hello, did you?”

John opened his mouth, but he was cut off before he could even start talking.

“No, of course, you didn't.”

“In my defence, I didn't know you still worked here,” he argued. “But it's certainly a nice surprise.”

Wilfred huffed. “Where else am I supposed to work, lad?! Retirement is for other people, you know that.”

As much as John would love to catch up with the old man, he knew that he had come here for a reason and he shouldn't forget about that. Kate would expect a report once he got back to the station, so John took a deep breath and decided to stop beating around the bush.

“I've actually come here to ask you a couple of questions,” he explained. “Well, one in particular. Concerning the body of the young woman we found.”

Wilfred's face took on a serious expression from one moment to the next and John knew that his old friend had heard about it. By now, he doubted that there was anyone on this island who hadn't.

“I need to know when she arrived, how long she was on this island before she died,” John told him in a serious manner. “We have a few theories, but there's still so much we don't know. If I could pinpoint the day she arrived on this island, we'll know more. We'll know whether she died right after her arrival, but if she didn't, if she spent a couple of days here, some people might have seen her or talked to her.”

Wilfred Mott nodded. “Give me her name,” he told John. “I'll check if she's in the system.”

As he moved towards the front desk, John followed him. “She has to be. She didn't take a plane,” he said. “Or else… well, she must have swum here. Her name is Bonnie Moore, that’s Bonnie with an ie.”

John waited impatiently while Wilfred operated the enormous computer and he tapped his foot on the floor until the old man told him to stop. Then, he decided to search Wilf's face for a clue, but there wasn't one.

“She didn't take a ferry,” Wilfred said eventually when he looked back up at John. “Her name is not in the system.”

“Did you spell it correctly?”

His old friend frowned at him. “I've been spelling things before you were even born,” he retorted angrily. “She must have taken a private boat, not the public ferry.”

John sighed when he realised that Wilfred was probably right. But how were they going to find out when and how she had arrived when there were no records of it? Then again, it occurred to John that she could have boarded the ferry under a false name. Not knowing what else to do, John reached into his pocket and pulled out the photo they had taken of Bonnie after Osgood had cleaned her up. He handed it to Wilfred.

“That's her,” he explained. “That's Bonnie Moore. Have you seen her around here?”

Wilfred frowned in response and John could tell that he recognised her. It was obvious from the look of confusion on his face. “But that's the teacher,” he said. “What was her name? Os-something.”

“Clara Oswald,” John finished his sentence for him. “She's Bonnie Moore's sister.”

Despite the explanation, Wilfred didn't stop frowning. Instead, he turned to face his computer screen once again and typed something into the keyboard. John had no idea what he was up to until the printer sprang to life and ejected a couple of pages. Now, it was John's turned to frown as he looked at the information. Clara Oswald had taken a ferry from Aberdeen to Kirkwall a week before Bonnie's death, but that wasn't what surprised him.

“This is a one-way ticket,” John said after a while. “When did she leave here?”

Wilfred shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe she took the plane off the island,” he replied matter-of-factly. Then, his face took on an almost smug expression and John knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Maybe Bonnie pretended to be Clara when she arrived,” John concluded as he folded up the printed documents and slipped them and the photo back into his pocket. “Thank you, Wilf. You've been a great help.”


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so, so much for all your lovely comments!  
> Not sure I'll be able to post a chapter on Saturday because I'm away for a Doctor Who convention, but if I'm not too exhausted and have wifi, I'll try my very best :)

John found Kate by the coffee maker and as he approached, the delicious smell of a fresh brew filled his nose and it made him remember that he had skipped breakfast. He grabbed an empty mug and joined Kate in the queue.

“It's almost lunch,” she remarked without looking at him. “You're late.”

When Kate removed her mug from under the coffee maker, John saw his opportunity and started the machine back up to fill his own mug. While the liquid was pouring into the mug, he turned towards his boss. “I went to the airport and then the harbour to speak to Wilf,” he explained. “He told me something interesting.”

Kate's eyebrows shot up. “It better be related to the case. I'm not in the mood to give you a lecture about punctuality.”

John chuckled. “You know you'd only be wasting your breath, right?”

His boss, however, didn't reply to that. There was a hint of a smile on her face, but she quickly hid her amusement and instead focused on the topic. “What did you and Wilf talk about?” she wanted to know.

In response, John pulled the sheets of paper out of his jacket and handed them to Kate. “I was looking into how Bonnie got here and the airport didn't have any records of her. Neither did Wilf, but when I showed him the photo, he recognised her.”

He waited until Kate had finished reading and he wasn't surprised when she frowned at the sheet of paper. “This says Clara Oswald, not Bonnie Moore,” she said.

A proud grin appeared on John's face even before he informed Kate about his theory – or rather Wilf's theory. “It does,” he confirmed, “but I'm fairly certain that when I ask Clara about it, she’ll tell me she didn't leave the island and come back on this date. However, someone else could have travelled under her name… someone who looked just like her.”

Kate seemed to consider his theory for a moment, but John could tell from her face that she didn't think it was stupid at all. “It's a possibility,” she replied eventually. “I'll look into that and in the meantime, I have something to show you as well.”

When Kate turned around with no further warning, all John could do was to grab his mug and follow her through the corridors until they eventually came to a halt in her office. Following her orders, John closed the door behind them and waited for Kate to pick up a scrap of paper from the table which she handed to him. For a moment, he was confused. The name scribbled down on the sheet of paper was an unfamiliar one and the address belonged to a flat in London.

“Saibra Preston?” John asked, now looking back up at Kate, hoping to find some answers on her face.

His boss inhaled deeply before she spoke. “Saibra Preston is Bonnie Moore's old flatmate and friend,” Kate explained. “We spoke on the phone this morning and she agreed to take care of the funeral. Someone should accompany Bonnie’s body back to London.”

In a matter of seconds, John's face turned into a frown until it finally hit him. “Hang on,” he said, “you want _me_ to play delivery person for a body?”

“If it was just about delivering her body, I would call an undertaker and let them take care of it,” Kate shot back in response. “Someone needs to talk to Saibra Preston and I thought you might be interested in doing so.”

When she put it that way, John realised that it didn't sound so bad anymore. At least he wasn't being downgraded to a courier.

“We hardly know anything about Bonnie,” Kate tried to reason with him. “A friend might be able to tell us a little more about her, give us some insight.”

John nodded in reply because he knew that she was right. “Alright,” he agreed eventually. “When do I leave?”

“This weekend,” Kate told him. “I'll get you the tickets and I'll have it arranged that an undertaker will meet you at the airport. You'll just have to sign the papers and talk to Bonnie's friend.”

“Could you get two tickets?” John asked before he could think better of it. He was fully aware that it was unorthodox and he wasn't entirely sure why he was asking. He didn't know whether Clara would like to join him, but Bonnie was her sister whether she had known about her or not. The least he could do was to offer her a chance to find out more.

John had half expected Kate to protest or at least remind him not to get involved with Clara – not that it wasn't too late for that – but to his surprise, she merely shrugged. “I think that can be arranged.”

“Good,” he concluded. “I'll ask Clara if she wants to join me.”

Kate opened her mouth, but she didn't speak immediately and it gave John the impression that she was still going to comment on it. “You and Clara-”

“We're friends,” he interrupted her before she even had a chance to throw a wild accusation at him. “I'm not protecting her and I don't think I'm giving her special treatment. I just think she deserves a chance to find out more about her sister.”

After a brief moment of hesitation, his boss nodded. “Alright,” she agreed eventually. “Just don't forget what you're going to London for. Talk to Saibra Preston, ask anything that could be of importance.”

“I will,” John promised her, the determination audible in his voice. “We'll crack this case, Kate. I'm sure we will.”

“Let's hope so,” his boss replied, but she didn't sound quite as convinced. “While you're gone, I'm going to look into some things as well. Ciaran O'Neill in particular.”

* * *

No matter how hard she tried to not think about it, her mind seemed to have turned against her and it kept replaying the memory of last night over and over again. Clara sipped her tea quietly and looked out of her kitchen window, hoping that the sight would take her mind off John. It wasn't helping, not really, and Clara had no idea what to do. She liked John, but what was happening right now was wrong on so many levels. It was almost like one of life's cruel jokes and Clara wondered what she had done to deserve this. She had kissed him on a whim last night, just to thank him for his help and for his friendship and in the same instant, Clara had realised that she had liked it. It wasn't possible. He was the detective working on Bonnie's case and she needed him to solve it and once he did, where would that leave her? And how could it be that she enjoyed kissing another man, however brief the kiss might have been, when Danny had only been dead for such a short time? No matter how she looked at it, every scenario just made her feel like the worst person on earth.

It wasn't the sight in front of her window but the ringing of her phone that eventually tore her out of her thoughts and she answered it straight away, hoping for a distraction.

“Hey Clara, it's John,” the familiar voice on the other end said. “How are you?”

She couldn't help the smile that spread across her face when she realised who was calling because no matter what was happening, she was still glad to hear from him. “Are you calling to check in on me?” Clara wanted to know.

“No,” he replied instantly, but then seemed to change his mind. “Well, yes and no. I also have a proposition for you, but first, I want to know if everything's okay.”

Clara chuckled in his response. It had been a while since someone had worried about her over something that wasn't related to Danny and somehow, she found his concern amusing. “I'm fine,” she replied sincerely. “No one has broken into my house today, so that's good news, and my students weren't too much of a pain in the arse. How about you?”

“I have some news about your sister,” John replied, his voice careful.

“Okay,” she said and exhaled sharply. “Well, fire away.”

“Actually, I'd rather tell you in person. I'm about to go for a walk with Odin. Would you like to join us?”

Even if Clara hadn't been craving some fresh air, John must have known that her curiosity would be too strong to resist such a proposal. Clara could do nothing but agree. “I'll get my coat,” she replied, smiling at the phone even though he couldn't see it. Maybe she was a bad person, but right now, John was her friend and Clara liked the idea of that just as much as that of Bonnie's case being solved. In the end, she knew that she could only have either one, but for now, she would enjoy his company.


	36. Chapter 36

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for your wonderful comments :) Now, it's time for John to pitch his idea to Clara. But how will she react?

Clara was curious what John wanted to talk to her about, but when he stopped by the house to pick her up, she was distracted by a very happy dog. Odin was sweet in general, but he was getting used to her by now and that meant he demanded her full attention for at least a minute, with Clara rubbing his ears and petting his head. Maybe one day she would own a pet herself, a furry friend to keep her company, but for now, Clara was fully content just spoiling Odin with cuddles.

“He likes you,” John remarked when Clara had finally finished the usual fussing over his dog and started heading towards out into the field.

Clara grinned at him. “The feeling is mutual. Odin's a very good boy,” she replied sincerely. She considered that having a dog around would probably make her feel a little safer until Clara remembered that there was a more effective way to do that. “So, um, you said you wanted to talk to me about something?”

Even though John didn't look at her and kept his eyes on the path ahead of them, Clara knew that it had something to do with Bonnie. He had said so on the phone even though he had refused to give her the details. She was surprised when he suddenly turned his head and grinned at her. “Do you have any plans for the weekend?”

In response, Clara raised her eyebrows at him. “Don't change the subject, John,” she reminded him. “You said it was about Bonnie.”

John exhaled sharply as the smile faded from his lips and suddenly, he looked a lot more serious. “Kate found one of Bonnie's friends in London. Saibra Preston. She’s agreed to take care of the funeral.”

“Oh,” Clara uttered in surprise. That wasn't something she had expected to hear. In fact, she had somehow assumed it would be up to her or her father to take care of her sister's burial. The fact that Bonnie had friends took her a little by surprise. “Alright.”

“I'm going to fly to London this weekend to hand over her body,” he went on to explain. “I'm also going to talk to her friend to see if she knows anything that could have led to… well, you know.”

Even though Clara tried very hard not to show it, the news wasn't exactly what she had expected to hear. She swallowed hard and tried her best to smile. “Well, that's good, isn't it?” she asked carefully. “I mean, if this Saibra person can help?”

John scoffed softly. “Honestly, I'm not sure,” he admitted. “I mean, she's an old flatmate from before Bonnie moved back to Belfast. I don't even know if they kept in touch.”

“Well, it's worth a try, I suppose,” she replied.

As they walked, Clara became increasingly aware that John was watching her intently. She glanced in his direction but swiftly looked away again when she realised that he was keeping an eye on her. Normally, the way he looked at her made her feel safe, but right now, it seemed to have the opposite effect, so she focused her eyes on the only building in sight – the old, dilapidated Campbell Estate on the other end of the field.

“You don't seem very thrilled,” John remarked. “I thought you'd be curious to find out more about your sister.”

“I am,” Clara protested instantly. “I am curious. But you just said it yourself. They're old flatmates. How much insight can this woman have? I had flatmates back at uni, but all we shared was a living space. Certainly not secrets.”

For some reason, the smile came back and John beamed at her again. “I suppose we'll find out.”

“ _We?_ ” she asked, frowning.

“I asked Kate if it would be okay for you to join me and she said she doesn't mind,” John explained. Then, the expression on his face changed and he looked as if he had just suggested something awful. “Only if you want to, of course. I mean, if you don't want to come, that's perfectly fine. I just thought you'd like to-”

To ease his mind, Clara smiled at him and interrupted him before he could finish his babbling. “That's very considerate of you,” she said earnestly. “I appreciate the offer.”

John waited for a moment before he raised his eyebrows expectantly. “So?” he asked, his voice careful.

“So what?”

“So, um, would you like to join me?” John wanted to know. “I mean, I don't want to pressure you, but it is this weekend and we'll have to book the flight and hotel rooms… or room, singular, if you don't wanna come.”

Clara considered it for a moment. She hadn't been back to London for over six months and she wasn't sure how it would feel to step back into the life she had left behind. But then there was Saibra Preston and the answers she might or might not have about Bonnie and of course, it would be nice to accompany her sister on her last journey.

“My job is mainly to hand over Bonnie's body to the undertaker in London,” John went on. “And to talk to Saibra Preston. We still have questions concerning Bonnie and basically, we're grasping at straws. The least she can tell us is what Bonnie was like. Wouldn't you like to know?”

Clara nodded slowly. She supposed that it would be nice to get to know her sister a little better and to say goodbye. And if she was perfectly honest, John was probably the only person with whom she would dare to go back to London at this stage.

“Alright,” she agreed eventually. “I'll come with you.”

Her hesitation wasn't lost on John because he raised his eyebrows at her in response. “Are you sure?” he asked. “I mean, I didn't talk you into it, did I? If you don't want to come, you shouldn't. It's not an obligation, just an offer.”

“I want to come,” Clara said more determinedly now. It was the right thing to do even if she had doubts. It was going to be okay because John would be with her. She could do it. “I mean it. I want to join you. I want to learn more about my sister and I want to make sure she's in good hands.”

Finally, John's face lit up again and Clara could tell that the prospect of not having to go alone appealed to him a lot. “Good,” he concluded. “I'll tell Kate to book two tickets. You can start packing your bags.”

“I will,” Clara promised, grinning back at him until she remembered an important detail. “Wait, what will you do about Odin?”

John chuckled and shrugged his shoulders. “One more thing to inform Kate of, I suppose.”


	37. Chapter 37

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And a big group hug for all your lovely comments :) Now, let's see how John's and Clara's investigation evolves...

The plane landed shortly before noon and John glanced towards Clara who had seemed a little uneasy during the flight and he had assumed it was because of the height and yet, her spirits didn't lift even once they felt solid ground under their feet. If he was completely honest, John had expected her to show a little more enthusiasm about the trip. After all, maybe she would learn something about her sister, but her hesitation had been obvious. It still was and John didn't really know where it was coming from. Maybe, he thought, it had something to do with Danny and going back to the city where it had happened and then John recalled something else. The ferry ticket in her name.

“You have you been back to London before?” he wanted to know as they climbed down the stairs of the small plane. John tried to reach for her hand luggage in an attempt to be a gentleman, but Clara held on to it tightly.

She shook her head. “No,” Clara replied. “I had no reason to. Why?”

John shrugged his shoulders in response. “I don't know,” he lied. “Just curious. You don't seem thrilled to be back.”

When they had reached the tarmac and a flight assistant pointed them in the direction of the hangar, John heard her utter a sigh. “I don't know how to feel about it, to be honest,” she admitted. “Lots of mixed feelings, but I did want to come. I want to know what Saibra has to say about Bonnie.”

John pulled up his sleeve and had a look at his watch. They were due to meet with Saibra Preston around noon and he was sure that a taxi would take them to their hotel to drop off the luggage and then to Miss Preston's address in less than an hour. “Well, I suppose we'll know very soon,” he replied and turned towards Clara to give her a smile. “Let's see if we can get a taxi.”

The paperwork involving Bonnie's body was dealt with quickly, and a whole line of taxis was already waiting in front of the airport where John and Clara hopped into the back of a black cab that drove straight to the city centre where their hotel was located. As they looked out of the windows, John realised that he had missed the city – at least a little. The traffic… not so much. But there was something special about London, about the feeling, the atmosphere and yes, that was the part he missed. It seemed as if Clara was reading his mind.

“Do you regret moving back to Scotland?” she wanted to know.

John chuckled softly. “Why are you asking?”

In response, he watched her shrug out of the corner of his eye. “The longing gaze out of the window,” she remarked.

It made him laugh. “I don't regret it, no,” he answered truthfully. “But I do miss it a little. Then again, Odin would probably go crazy in the city.”

“Probably, yes,” Clara agreed.

 

They remained quiet for most of the journey apart from the occasional small talk about places and people and it didn't take them long to reach the hotel, but there was no time to check in now. After handing their luggage over to the concierge, John and Clara were back inside the taxi and headed towards Saibra Preston's place.

John wasn't entirely sure what he had expected her house to look like, but it still came as a bit of a surprise to him when the taxi came to a halt next to a building covered entirely in floral graffiti. The neighbourhood didn't look any different and the people that walked past their taxi had rather strange haircuts and clothing, making sure that everyone who saw them knew that they weren't like everyone else. John and Clara were going to stand out. She was cautious when she stepped out of the car and John could tell that Clara felt a little nervous and it made him nervous by extension. Behind that door, he could find all the answers he was looking for – or nothing at all.

John left it to Clara to ring the doorbell and after a few moments, a strangely dressed woman opened up. Her body was covered in a black coat as if she had planned to go out and her dark make-up suited her nicely. John determined that Saibra Preston was pretty, but there was a sadness in her eyes not unlike the sadness he often saw in Clara. Not that he blamed her after she had just heard about her friend's death.

“You must be Detective Inspector Smith,” Saibra greeted him.

John hadn't been aware that Clara had been hiding behind him, but as she stepped forward, Saibra suddenly froze on the spot and her mouth fell open as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing, or as if she was looking at a ghost.

“Hello,” Clara said quietly, her voice almost a whisper. “I'm Clara Oswald. Bonnie's sister.”

Finally, Saibra smiled. “It's amazing,” she uttered breathlessly. “You look exactly like her.”

It was obvious that Bonnie's former flatmate needed a moment to gather her thoughts, but once the shock had worn off somewhat, Saibra asked them to come inside and prepared them mugs of tea while John and Clara waited in the living room. John watched as Clara looked around curiously and it didn't take a lot of imagination for him to know that she was picturing Bonnie within these walls, interacting with her friends and her flatmates. He wondered what Bonnie had been like, whether she had been anything like Clara at all, but the answers weren't held in the walls. Only Saibra could give them what they wanted to know.

Saibra returned a few minutes later, carrying a tray laden with tea and biscuits and it seemed strange to see a woman like her uphold a long-standing British tradition when she looked anything but the traditional sort.

“Your colleague said you had questions for me,” Saibra began carefully and John watched her gaze wander towards Clara again. 

He thought that it must be strange for her, infinitely stranger than it had been for him the first time he had looked at Bonnie's dead body only to stare into Clara's face a short while later. “Yes,” John confirmed. “I assume you have questions, too?”

When Saibra nodded, John told her what he could without giving away too much. About how and where they had found Bonnie, about her connection to Clara and about what they hadn't figured out yet. Bonnie's former flatmate nodded understandingly, but every time she looked at Clara, John could have sworn she saw Bonnie.

“We need to find out what happened to her,” John said eventually. “Our first theory was a suicide, but since then, a few things have happened that made us doubt that. We were hoping that you could help us because right now, you're the only person we can find who knew Bonnie at all.”

“Bonnie didn't kill herself,” Saibra replied instantly and without a moment's hesitation. “She is the last person who would ever end her own life.”

John glanced towards Clara, but she didn't give off the impression that she wanted to add to the conversation, so he continued on his own. “I know it's difficult to process, I know we want to think the best of the people we know, but-”

“I'm telling you,” she interrupted him gruffly, “Bonnie didn't kill herself. You said I'm the only one who knew her, so believe me when I say that she would never do that.”

Suddenly, Saibra started to chuckle and it made John frown.

“What's so funny?”

“Bonnie wasn't very sensitive,” her flatmate explained. “In fact, she could be quite rude and mean at times and her views on suicide were, well... I don't want to repeat them, but it's not something she would do. Ever.”

John nodded slowly and decided to believe her. Saibra seemed very convinced and it confirmed the feeling John was starting to get about the case. For some reason, Bonnie had come to Kirkwall with Clara's address in her pocket and she had spent a week there before her death. Then there was the break-in at Clara's house, Ciaran O'Neill and his questionable connection to the IRA, and his connection to Danny's death – at which Bonnie may or may not have been present. John would get to the bottom of it all somehow.

“Can you tell us a little more about what Bonnie was like?” John asked.

Saibra seemed to consider her response for a moment before she eventually shrugged. “I'm not really sure,” she admitted. “I mean, we were flatmates for a few years, but I don't think I really knew her. She was uncomplicated, very straightforward, did her washing up and didn't listen to loud music. She was a good flatmate, but we weren't friends.”

After he exhaled sharply, John leaned forward just a little to get a better look at Saibra. “Is there anything else you could tell us? Where she worked perhaps?”

“I'm sorry,” the woman replied sincerely. “I know she must have had a job because she would pay her bills, but she was very secretive about it. Sometimes, she would vanish for a couple of weeks for work and then she would come back home and not come out of her room for days. I have no idea what she did. I can only assume it was a journalism job because that's what she had always wanted to do back at university.”

“Did Bonnie have any connections to any organisations?” John wanted to know. It was the question he had been meaning to ask all along and the answer was the one most important to him. Everything, the entire investigation depended on it.

“Organisations? What sort of organisations?” Saibra enquired, the confusion visible on her face.

There was a no way to soften the blow, no way to ease her into it, so John decided to just come out with the matter straight away. “The IRA.”

Saibra's eyes widened in an instant, accompanying the look of horror on her face.

“Please, don't say no just because you don't want to think Bonnie would have worked with them,” John implored her. “We need to find out what happened to her and for that, we need to explore all the options. We have reason to believe that someone with connections to the IRA was after her.”

He watched as Saibra swallowed hard and she didn't reply for a long time while she considered her answer. The room went so quiet that suddenly the noise from the streets seemed unbearably loud.

“Did she maybe say something that could've led you to believe she shared their views? Did she talk about Belfast? About her family? Or anything about the people she associated with?” he asked and for a moment, John actually believed that Saibra would confirm everything.

However, to his disappointment, she shook her head. “Not to knowledge. I mean, I don't remember her saying anything like that. She never talked about her family or Belfast. But like I said, we weren't that close. I honestly don't know,” Saibra admitted and then bit down on her lip. Her gaze dropped to her own two feet as if she was ashamed of what she was about to say. “But... I wouldn't put it past her either.”

John uttered a sigh, trying very hard to hide how disappointed he really was. He hadn't expected the case to be solved by this visit, but he hoped for a little more than that. Still, he wasn't quite ready to give up yet.

“What about a man named Ciaran O'Neill?” John wanted to know. “Did Bonnie ever mention him?”

At this, Saibra shook her head. “No, I've never heard that name before,” she replied.

Not knowing what else to do, John turned towards Clara who had been quiet during the entire conversation and when he looked at her, he suddenly thought that her mind was probably miles away. She seemed as if she would rather leave, but he had brought her here for a reason. “Is there something you want to ask about Bonnie?”

At last, Clara woke from her daydream and focused on him before he eyes trailed towards Saibra. She hesitated, but then shook her head. “No,” Clara said plainly.


	38. Chapter 38

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John and Clara were unsuccessful in finding out more, but that doesn't mean that their entire trip was in vain...

Just as Clara had expected, Saibra hadn't been of much help and even though John had probably assumed she would, she hadn't felt like asking any more questions to which her sister's former flatmate would have had no answers anyway. As they walked back to their taxi, Clara noticed that John was watching her and she knew that it would only be a matter of time before he started asking questions. It didn't take him long after they had sat down in the back of the car before Clara watched him turn his head towards her.

“You were quiet in there,” he remarked. John waited, giving her time to respond, but Clara didn't. “I thought you'd have questions about Bonnie.”

She merely shrugged. “I do,” she replied. “But none Saibra could have answered. I don't think she really knew Bonnie at all.”

John huffed softly, a gesture that told Clara he agreed. “Honestly, I had expected a little more. At least about the IRA question – more than a maybe.”

In return, Clara narrowed her eyes at him. “What makes you think Bonnie was in the IRA?”

He hesitated and it made her wary all of a sudden. There was something John wasn't telling her even though he had promised to keep her updated on everything related to the case. There was something he was keeping from her. While the car engine hummed to life and the noise of the city rushed past them as they drove through the streets, John seemed to ponder his answer for a long moment.

“Didn't you ever wonder why the man who was questioned about Danny's accident showed up here?”

Clara frowned at him because it wasn't a question she could answer.

“I know Kate doesn't agree and she wouldn't like me telling you this, but there is something fishy about Ciaran O'Neill. He's a suspect in Bonnie's death and there are too many coincidences to ignore,” he explained. “First, he was a suspect in Danny's death. Then he shows up here, talks to me about the case, talks to you about your break-in and when Kate dug into his past, she found a possible connection to the IRA.”

“That doesn't make sense,” Clara argued. “Why would the IRA want Bonnie dead? And if they did, why not take the credit for it? And why would they want _Danny_ dead? He had nothing to do with any of that.”

Again, John remained silent for a while and after a minute had passed, he shook his head. “I don't know,” he replied, exhaling sharply. His eyes wandered towards the roof of the car, but there weren't any answers to be found. 

At this point, Clara knew that it was no use trying to dig deeper when John obviously had no answers, so she sank back into her seat and looked out of the window. She had sort of known about the outcome of the conversation with Saibra before coming to London, so why had she even agreed to the trip at all? No matter how hard she searched for an excuse, it didn't cover up the simple, plain truth – and that was that she had come because she liked John, she liked spending time with him, so when he had asked, there was no way she could have said no and it made her feel extremely guilty.

“I'm sorry,” Clara whispered after a while.

She heard him shuffle and turn his head, but she didn't want to look at him right now. “What for?”

“Everything,” she admitted. “It's just that… I don't know. I feel bad.”

Clara was startled when John suddenly took her hand out of nowhere and it was what made her turn back to him at last. He seemed confused more than anything right now. 

“Because of what? Danny? Coming back to London? Your sister?”

She sighed, hoping that the right words would come to her. “You're being so nice to me and you're telling me things about the case that you probably shouldn't and you're taking me along on this trip because Bonnie was my sister even though I have no business being here,” Clara blurted out. “I feel like I'm using you to get information and I feel bad about it.”

To her surprise, John started to chuckle. “Well, _are_ you using me to get information?” he wanted to know.

She opened her mouth to reply, but John was quicker than that and cut her off before she had a chance.

“Or are you enjoying the company of an intelligent, funny and extremely good-looking police detective while also getting information from him?”

Clara burst into laughter. She just couldn't help herself. John had a way of lifting her spirits, of turning a serious conversation into a joke at exactly the right moment and he wasn't even wrong in what he was saying. She was enjoying his company.

“You have a very high opinion of yourself,” Clara replied, chuckling. “That's usually my métier.”

“Well, am I wrong?” John wanted to know.

Clara granted him a smile. “I've met funnier people,” she remarked with a shrug, “but you're not wrong. I do enjoy your company.”

“Then you have nothing to feel bad about,” he told her sincerely and Clara felt him squeeze her hand a little. “You're curious about your sister, that's natural. The fact that you and I are friends has nothing to do with that. I'll tell you as much as I can because you have a right to know.”

Even though it didn't ease her mind entirely, Clara kept on smiling because she knew that it was what John wanted. Amy had told her a long time ago that John felt a little more towards her than he should, even though he was probably not aware of it. Initially, Clara hadn't liked the idea, but by now, she was more fond of John than she should be. He was right. She should just enjoy his company without worrying about the future.

“So,” John went on, “we handed over the body to the undertaker, we spoke to Saibra. And we still have the entire afternoon and evening left.”

“We do,” Clara agreed, not entirely sure what he was on about. “Why?”

“Is there something you would like to do?” he asked carefully, raising his eyebrows at her and somehow, Clara knew exactly that he was really asking whether she wanted to see Danny's grave. The look he gave her, the hesitation, the worry, the sympathy that was mixed with his own personal pain, it couldn't mean anything else. But visiting Danny was the last thing she wanted to do right now. 

“Actually, I'd like to do something fun,” Clara said instead. “I don't care what, you choose.”

The surprise was visible on his face, but it didn't take him long to start grinning at her. “Alright,” he agreed. “Cultural fun? Entertaining fun? Fun that involves food?” he enquired.

Clara chuckled. “Surprise me.”

She deliberately tried not to hear it when John leaned forward to speak to the taxi driver. Instead, she sank deeper into her seat and smiled to herself. Clara was determined to do exactly what John had asked her to do – to stop feeling guilty and enjoy his company.


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the lovely comments, dears :) I'm sure you're all curious to see how their "date" goes...
> 
> P.S. Looking for a Christmas present? Check out my Tumblr or Twitter for more details on the novel version of this story!

The exhaustion was tugging at his bones as they climbed the stairs up to their hotel rooms because an “out of order” sign on the lift doors had forced them to abandon their hopes of going to bed via the fastest route possible. It was almost midnight now and John could feel the events of the day dragging him down with every step. The early flight, the paperwork, the conversation with Saibra Preston and after that, his attempts to lift Clara's spirits. Not knowing what else to do, he had opted to take Clara on a stroll along the Thames near Westminster, out of nostalgia more than anything else. As a former Londoner, he had enjoyed the sight of the inner city and apparently, so had Clara. A part of him wondered how she felt about it, returning to the city she had left behind. For him, it had only been a couple of weeks, but despite that, John felt as if he had left years ago; as if London had ceased to be his home the moment he had received Kate's phone call. His place was now in Scotland.

Even though it was a little far off their route, somehow, they had ended up at the Dungeon in Tooley Street and Clara had dragged him inside despite his protests, her mood already somewhat elevated by the stroll and the atmosphere of the city and John hadn't had the heart to say no to her. Her laugh was worth it. After receiving the scare of a lifetime, they had visited a small pizza parlour with excellent food and even better wine and by then, it had occurred to John that their recreational activities were probably not what Kate had had in mind when she had allowed him to bring Clara along. Not that it mattered much when they had obviously made the best of the day.

While they were climbing the last flight, Clara suddenly started to giggle.

“What?” John growled, knowing that whatever amused Clara could only be bad for him.

She chuckled, grinning next to him. “You scream like a little girl,” she remarked. “Do they teach you that in training?”

John rolled his eyes. It hadn't been his fault at all. The scary person had appeared out of nowhere and Clara hadn't stopped laughing until five minutes later. “Stop it,” he told her grimly.

“Never,” Clara replied, the amusement all too audible in her voice, but then, she let out a sigh and stopped once they had reached the end of the stairs. From here, their hotel rooms were just around the corner. Yet Clara uttered a sound of weariness. “It's too far.”

Her complaint made him laugh, but if John was completely honest, he felt the same. Even though it was only a few metres, their rooms felt as if they were miles away. The exhaustion wasn't the same John usually felt after a long day at work, this was different. Somehow, the disappointment about their conversation with Saibra didn't seem so important anymore because he and Clara had still managed to make the best of the day. And despite his body telling him that it was high time to get some rest, a part of him didn't want the day to end.

Carefully, John placed his hand on her waist and started leading the rest of the way, almost pulling the tired Clara along, but she seemed to need the motivation as much as he did. Somehow, the skin on his hand tingled a little as he guided her along the corridor.

“We probably shouldn't tell Kate about this,” he remarked once they had turned around the corner. Judging by the numbers on the doors they passed, their rooms were the last ones at the far end of the corridor.

“About what?” Clara wanted to know and craned her neck to look at him. She looked as tired as he felt, but her eyes still hadn't lost that flicker of excitement. “I thought she was fine with me coming along.”

John chuckled softly. “Not that, she was fine with that,” he reassured her. “But the Dungeon and restaurant were not exactly part of the plan. Especially not the wine because, technically speaking, I'm on duty.”

“Mhhh,” Clara hummed. “I have something on you now.”

Once again, she stopped and John was about to ask why when he noticed the number on the door right next to her. They had arrived at Clara's hotel room and his own would be right behind him. However, he wasn't entirely sure that Clara had noticed because she was grinning at him mischievously. “I could blackmail you.”

John shot her a suspicious glance. “You wouldn't blackmail a police detective, would you?”

“No, I wouldn't,” Clara said, shaking her head, but still smiling at him.

She seemed so different when her thoughts weren't circling around Bonnie or Danny, when, for once, she was carefree and just allowing herself to have a little bit of fun. John loved to see her like that and he knew that by morning when they headed home, her good mood would be gone. If only he could freeze this moment for just a little longer just so Clara had a chance to be happy; this exact moment with the two of them standing in a hotel corridor, Clara smiling up at him, John smiling back at her, his heart hammering in his chest not because he was nervous, but because right now, he was happy to be here with her.

A sudden surge of bravery came over him and John wasn't sure whether her smile was to blame for it or the wine, but he stepped forward and carefully raised his hands until he cupped her face in his palms. Her eyes, her smile, they were a beautiful sight to behold and a sudden thrill rushed through his veins when John realised that Clara wasn't pulling away from him. Instead, she just kept on smiling and the sweet memory of the brief kiss they had shared came back to him along with a desire to repeat it. Would she let him? Would she want him to kiss her? John had no idea and all of a sudden, he was too scared to ask or act as if his life depended on this one decision. While he was still cursing himself, wondering why he wasn't better at this at his age, John hardly noticed that the smile faded from Clara's lips before she pushed herself up on tiptoes, her body leaning in, touching his before their lips finally met.

It wasn't anything like the first time. Clara didn't pull away and John had all the time in the world to savour the feeling of her soft mouth along with the taste of a last hint of wine on the tip of her tongue as she parted her lips to let him in and all of a sudden, there were butterflies in his stomach. He closed his eyes. John had dreamed about this moment in the small hours of each morning, never imagining it would actually come true and right now, he was probably the happiest man on this earth – or the luckiest because Clara had chosen to kiss him. Now he truly didn't want this evening to end and the earlier exhaustion was forgotten.

It was the shrill ringing of a phone that eventually made him come back to his senses and when John realised that it wasn't going to stop, he broke the kiss and opened his eyes. Clara was looking at him, but the expression on her face was unreadable and only slowly turning into confusion while the ringing went on. “Um,” she uttered, “I think it's coming from your room.”

At last, her spell had lifted and John let her go and stepped out of their embrace as he turned around and noticed that Clara was right. The noise that had disturbed their precious moment was coming from his hotel room. Quickly, John reached into his pocket and pulled out a key to unlock the door, all the while cursing the disturber in his head.

The telephone sat on his bedside table and John picked up the handset as quickly as he could before the noise woke the surrounding guests. “This is John Smith speaking,” he answered, his voice wary because he had no clue as to who could be on the other end of the line.

“Oh, thank God,” a voice sighed on the other end and John quickly recognised it as Osgood. “I've been trying to reach you for hours!”

His mind still a little befuddled from the exhaustion and the wine and the kiss, so John needed a moment to gather his thoughts before he could answer. “Oh, um, sorry. I was out.”

“It doesn't matter,” Osgood replied sharply. “I have to tell you something.”

“Alright,” he said. Now John really had no idea what was going on. “Why? Did something happen?”

The pathologist hesitated for a moment and the only sound he could hear was her breathing. That was when John knew something bad must have happened and it seemed as if an eternity passed before she finally spoke. “Kate is in the hospital.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *massively big group hug for all the commenters* Thank you so much, guys :)
> 
> And to see whether Kate is alright, read on...

Clara stood in the doorway and tried her best not to think about the kiss. She couldn't think about that just yet, so instead, she was determined to focus on John and the phone call. From his face, she could tell that the news was anything but good and she waited patiently for him to thank whoever was on the other end of the line. They didn't exchange more than a few words before he hung up and turned to look at her, his features weary and grave.

“Bad news?” Clara wanted to know.

John nodded slowly as if he still needed a moment to let it sink in. “It's Kate,” he replied. “She's in hospital.”

“Not anything bad, I hope?” Clara liked Kate and her children would be worried if it was something serious, so she prayed that it wasn't, but from the way John helplessly stood in the middle of the hotel room, she really couldn't tell.

“Osgood didn't say,” he explained. As he spoke, John didn't look at her, but his eyes kept wandering around the room, failing to stay still. If there was anything more to it, if Osgood had told him the reason, John didn't say and Clara didn't know what else to do, so she stepped forward and gently place her hand on his arm, granting him a smile.

“Our plane leaves at seven and you can go straight to the hospital once we're back,” Clara assured him. “In the meantime, I doubt there's anything you can do.”

His mind was somewhere else entirely, but he still nodded, no doubt wishing that there was something he could do instead of being stuck in London. At last, he spoke again. “Kate wanted to take the investigation a little further, she wanted to find out more about Ciaran O'Neill,” he explained, his speech slow and thoughtful. “I just hope it has nothing to do with that.”

At the mention of Ciaran O'Neill, Clara suddenly flinched and she had to agree with John. If Ciaran O'Neill was involved in whatever had happened to Kate... No, she shouldn't think about that now. Tomorrow, they would find out and if it really was bad, his colleague would have told him.

“We should try to get some sleep,” Clara said, once reason won her over. “We have to get up in a couple of hours.”

When John merely nodded, Clara finally let go of his arm and took a step back. There was no reaction from him, so she turned around to leave as the image of the kiss came back to the forefront of her mind. Clara tried her best to push it away. Not now. She couldn't think about it now, no matter how much she had enjoyed it. She had to leave.

“Clara?”

John's voice held her back and made her turn around once again. There he was, standing in the middle of the room, smiling softly at her and Clara's heart sank into her boots at the sight of him. How had she slipped into this mess?

“Yes?” she asked carefully.

“Goodnight,” John wished her, but even though his lips only said two simple words, his eyes said so much more. They thanked her for the lovely afternoon, they told her he had enjoyed it and they betrayed that he had loved the kiss as much as she had.

“Goodnight,” Clara replied and finally retreated to her own hotel room before she could do or say something in her loneliness that she would later regret.

* * *

John had stopped thinking about the kiss and that was probably the only advantage. The downside of it was that he was still worrying about Kate and he still didn't know what had happened to her as he dropped Clara off at her house before driving straight to the hospital, anxious about what he was going to find. Even though Kate had repeatedly told him that she was his boss and not his partner, John still felt a twinge of guilt. Whatever had happened, maybe John could have prevented it. He should have been here.

John was relieved when he stepped into the hospital room and found Kate sitting upright in her bed, a book laid across her lap and she had obviously heard him enter because his boss looked up and smiled. “I didn't expect to see you here,” she remarked. “I thought you hated hospitals.”

“I do,” John confirmed as he pulled up a chair to sit down next to her. “But when Osgood called to tell me you were here, she wouldn't say what was wrong. I was worried.”

Kate chuckled. “Well, you were worried unnecessarily. I'll be fine. They're going to discharge me tomorrow.”

In response, John merely nodded towards the bandage around her head, but Kate rolled her eyes and it almost made him laugh. Even as a child, she had never liked making a fuss, but this time, it seemed a little worse than a skinned knee.

“I have a concussion, but the doctors say there's no major damage. They only kept me in for observation and I'll be absolutely fine after a few days of rest,” she explained.

Assuming that what Kate told him was the truth, John really saw no reason to push it when she was going to be okay. However, he still narrowed his eyes at her as the next question popped into his head. “How did it happen?”

Kate paused for a moment before she gave a shrug. “I don't know. The last half hour before it happened is a little fuzzy, but the doctors say the memory might come back once the injury heals,” she said. “I remember I was walking down a street and then… nothing. The most likely scenario is that someone struck me across the head. My bag was gone when I woke up. Maybe just a random robbery.”

A random robbery on the streets of Kirkwall? It wasn't impossible, but highly unlikely. “And if it wasn't a random robbery?”

For a long while, Kate just looked at him as if she wasn't entirely sure what to do next. After exhaling sharply, she eventually turned around and opened the drawer of her bedside table. John waited patiently as she retrieved an envelope that by now had a couple of creases and she handed it over without saying a word. Frowning, John opened it and several black and white photographs came to light, but they weren't of Kirkwall or anywhere else on this island. They were photos of a busy London street.

“What are these?” John asked, but his question was answered when he started to skim through them. One of the photos depicted an accident and somehow, he knew that it had to be Danny Pink.

“I did a little digging,” Kate explained. “A tourist was taking pictures just before Danny Pink's accident happened. Could you see if you can get them enlarged a little?”

John nodded and pocketed the envelope. “I'll take care of it straight away,” he promised. “Anything else?”

“Whoever arrived on this island a week before Bonnie Moore's death,” she went on, “they used Clara's passport.”

John wrinkled his forehead. He had asked Clara whether she had been back to London, but she might have gone somewhere else. He would ask her about it, but somehow, he doubted that the traveller was indeed Clara. “I don't think it was her.”

“Then I assume Miss Oswald is currently short of a passport,” Kate said.

“I'll ask her about it,” John said and rose to his feet. His boss wouldn't want him to linger out of politeness. It was best if he got to work straight away. “I’d better pick up my dog now or he'll think I abandoned him.”

“He's staying with Osgood,” Kate told him with a smile.

He nodded in reply. “Thanks. For everything,” John said. “And you rest!”

His voice was strict and to underline the meaning, John pointed at her. The last thing he heard was Kate's laugh as he turned around and headed out of the room, glad to get away from the hospital smell, and glad that Kate was going to be fine.


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your sweet comments always make my day, you know that? Last week was very stressful and your comments always put a smile on my face, so thank you for that!

Knowing that Kate was going to be alright, John felt a great sense of relief wash over him as he left the hospital to pick up Odin. The dog was obviously happy to see him, wagging his tail and jumping up at him with an excitement that couldn't be dampened, so John made the only reasonable decision – to take Odin out for a nice, long walk. As they headed across the fields, however, John soon realised that out here, he had more time to think than was probably good for him. Kate would be okay, so now his mind could focus on other things besides his boss's wellbeing. Naturally, the first thing that popped into his head was Clara and the moment they had shared in the hotel corridor.

Why had he cupped her face in his hands? Why had Clara gone up on tiptoes and kissed him when he had thought of doing just exactly that? Why hadn't she pulled away? When the phone call had interrupted them, John hadn't given it much thought, but now that he was alone with just Odin and his recollections, the idea just wouldn't leave him alone. He had feelings for Clara, but it had never actually occurred to him that Clara might feel something for him too, not when she was obviously still grieving for her dead boyfriend and had only just lost her sister. Surely a romance with the detective who investigated her sister's death was the last thing on her mind?

As he walked across the field, John realised that on his own, he would never get the answers he was looking for. There was only one way to do that and it was to talk to Clara about the kiss and what it meant for them.

Half an hour later, John found himself stood in front of the familiar house and he suddenly felt a lot more nervous than he had last night. The outcome of this conversation could change everything or nothing at all, and he wasn't sure whether he was ready for the answer. Once again, it occurred to him that he had picked exactly the wrong person to fall for. He had picked Clara Oswald, a woman who was somehow involved in this case and John laughed when he realised it couldn't have happened any other way. He had always had a way of picking them, hadn't he? But once someone had found a way into his heart, he would do almost anything for them. Yet none of his problems could be solved by standing in front of Clara's door like a creep, so he rang the doorbell and waited.

It took Clara a minute and when she opened the door, there was a look of surprise on her face, as if she hadn't really expected him to show up – or as if she hadn't wanted him to.

“Oh,” she said breathlessly, her eyes wide and large. “John, uh, I didn't expect to see you. I thought you wanted to check on Kate.”

Odin tugged at his lead in an attempt to greet Clara and she bent down and petted him absent-mindedly while John went on to explain. “I did. She's going to be alright,” he said. Then he slowly raised his eyebrows. “Can I come in?”

That small moment of hesitation on her side was enough to let John know that he wasn't wanted here right now, but for some reason, Clara smiled at him. It didn't seem all too sincere. “I'm actually doing laundry right now. It's not the best time,” she explained, but he was a good enough detective to see through her lie.

“It's about last night,” John went on. He couldn't wait. He just had to know what was going on in Clara's head and he wouldn't let a silly excuse like laundry get in the way of the answer. “I think we should talk about what happened.”

In response, Clara crossed her arms in front of her chest and her gaze darkened a little. “Not right now,” she replied. “Like I said, I'm a little busy. I'll be back to work tomorrow and there won't be any time for household chores.”

Still, John wasn't so easily deterred. He took a step closer, imploring Clara with his eyes. “Please, just give me ten minutes,” he almost begged. “What happened last night-”

“I can't talk about it!” Clara cut him off, her voice sharp and John instinctively stepped back again, momentarily dumbstruck by her harsh tone. The lines on his face deepened as he frowned in her direction, but when she next spoke, her voice had softened a little. “Please, John, I can't talk about it. Not yet.”

Not knowing what else to do, he merely nodded.

“I-” Clara began, but broke off, obviously deciding to say something else instead. “Danny. It's the first time since-”

Again, John nodded. Of course. He should have thought about it sooner before coming across like a total idiot. “I understand,” he replied softly. “I'm sorry. I should have realised and I shouldn't have pushed you.”

“Thanks,” Clara uttered weakly and averted her eyes and John realised just how big a deal this was for her. The first time he had kissed someone after River had been confusing, too. But then he remembered something else, something he had promised Kate.

“Can I still ask you a question?” John wanted to know, his voice careful. “It's about the case.”

“Um.” She hesitated, but eventually nodded even though the prospect alone seemed to annoy her. “Sure.”

“Apart from our trip to London, have you left this island before?” he enquired.

Clara frowned at him, obviously unsure why he was asking. “No,” she replied simply. “I haven’t left. Why?”

“What about your passport? Do you have it?”

At that, Clara released her arms from the crossed position in front of her body and placed her hands on both sides of her hips. “Why are you asking me this?” she demanded, sounding angry.

The way Clara looked at him suddenly made John feel guilty. He knew exactly what sort of internal torment was going through her head after their kiss and he should have left straight after his apology. Instead, he had once again treated her like a criminal, like a suspect in his case.

“I'm sorry,” John apologised again. “It's just that... it doesn't matter. I'm sorry. I should go.”

John didn't want to risk saying another stupid thing, so he turned around on the spot and started walking away when suddenly, Clara's voice held him back.

“John.”

He spun back around and raised a hopeful eyebrow at her. “Mm?”

“Last night, that kiss,” she began, “that was nice.”

John granted her a smile and even though it was hard to resist the temptation, he decided to leave because he knew that if he said or did anything else, he would only ruin her confession.

* * *

When John entered the police station the next morning, he was instantly greeted by the sound of hurried footsteps as the heels of someone's shoes clicked on the floor and resounded through the entire building.

“DI Smith!” Osgood called out to him excitedly, waving a large envelope around as she hurried towards him. “DI Smith!”

John almost groaned and he could tell that this would be the kind of day where he would have to get straight to work before he had even had a chance to have his morning coffee.

“Osgood, watch out!” John tried to warn her as he watched the woman dart across the corridor, but it was too late for her to stop and she only caught her balance at the last moment before stumbling over a toolbox some handyman had so carelessly left there.

The pathologist uttered a sound of surprise or pain or both, but eventually, she came to a halt in front of him, panting frantically from the running. “DI Smith,” she said, then gasped for air.

John rolled his eyes. “Inhaler, Osgood,” he reminded her.

The young woman, completely out of breath, nodded in reply and drew the little inhaler out of the pocket of her lab coat before she raised it to her mouth and took a deep breath. It seemed to calm her breathing almost instantly. “I have news,” she announced immediately after.

“And it's so urgent that it couldn't have waited until I had reached my office?”

Osgood didn't say anything in response, instead, she opened the large envelope and drew out a couple of photographs. “The pictures you gave me when you picked up Odin yesterday,” she explained and her voice still sounded a little shaky from the run. “I did as you asked and the lab just sent them back. I think I found something interesting.”

John bent a little closer as he regarded the pictures carefully, but at the first glance, he couldn't spot anything he hadn't seen before. Then, Osgood's finger pointed towards a little spot and John's mouth fell open. The photograph was blurry and the black and white nature of it didn't exactly make it easy to discern any details between the artefacts that were the results of enlarging the photo, but the longer he looked, the more convinced John became that the driver of the car was no other than Ciaran O'Neill. Finally, they had made some progress.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for your sweet comments, but special thanks to Whiteasy :) It always makes my day to come home to so much love and appreciation for my stories!!!
> 
> Now, I assume you're all curious how this goes on...

After only driving for a couple of minutes, the van came to a halt on a quiet street right next to the shabby bed and breakfast where Ciaran O'Neill was believed to be staying and in his head, John went over the events of the past few days. The London police had missed the photos and he couldn't blame them. If it hadn't been for Kate's idea and Osgood pointing straight at O'Neill's face, John would have missed it, too, but now, the resemblance between the driver and their suspect was too much to ignore. A couple of phone calls later, they had received a location and a warrant for O’Neill’s arrest. Despite it being a team effort, John couldn't help but feel a little proud of himself because he had been the one to point them in the suspect’s direction in the first place. Right now, they had very little to actually connect him to Bonnie's death, but they would get to that eventually – as soon as they had arrested him.

What John had gathered from the photographs was a feasible explanation. The driver had parked nearby as Danny Pink still stood on the pavement, talking to a woman whose face was obscured completely. The second showed the accident immediately before it happened. The car had been heading straight towards Danny while he had stood in the middle of the road, bracing himself for the impact that was mere seconds away. John had also noticed the woman on her knees and he remembered what he had learned about the accident beforehand – that Danny Pink had pushed someone out of the way and he knew that it had to be her. Sadly, he could never see her face, but he could tell from her hair and the shape of her small body that it could only be Clara's twin. These photographs were proof that his theory had been correct.

John turned around and he felt reassured by the two armed men in the back of the van, but what worried him wasn't the presence of guns, it was the woman driving the car.

“Are you sure you're ready for this?” he asked carefully.

Kate's head turned and she shot him a dark look. “I'm fine,” she hissed.

Still, John wasn't entirely convinced. Kate was a strong woman and he had no doubt that she would recover fully, but it had only been a few days since the attack and even though office work might have been alright, going out to chase suspects was probably not something she should be doing just yet. With the armed team to cover his back, John would have been just fine. “You can probably wait in the car. I can-”

“John, if you don't cut that out right now, it's you who will be waiting in the car,” Kate replied, her voice sharp and determined and John instantly closed his mouth and shut up when his boss drew out her gun and inspected it before slipping it neatly into the holster. “Any questions?”

John swallowed. “Nope, I'm alright.”

“Alright, listen up!” Kate announced loudly, turning around to speak to everyone in the car. “Our target is Ciaran O'Neill. He is a suspect in two deaths and a possible member of the IRA and I have every intention of locking him up in a cell today. We have to assume that he is armed and dangerous, but he has never openly attacked a member of the police. Pay attention and do not fire unless O'Neill gives you a reason.”

The men in the back nodded and following Kate's lead, the group left the car and headed towards the bed and breakfast. John looked up at the building and figured that it had seen better days, but he had learned not to judge a book by its cover. However, the interior was just as run-down as the outside. The wallpaper was old-fashioned, stained and the layer of dust on it showed that it had neither been cleaned nor replaced in a very long time. John followed Kate as she approached the reception desk which looked equally dusty and the little bell that sat on top of the counter looked to be something he would rather not touch. His boss didn't seem to be very impressed by the grime as she stepped forward and rang for the receptionist. As they waited, John used the time to look around. This bed and breakfast was not a place he would ever stay at, no matter how desperate he was. He would rather take his chances and sleep in the backseat of his car. That would most certainly be more hygienic.

He heard a rough, rattling cough coming from the back, followed by shuffling steps and they waited for an agonisingly long time before an old man stepped through the door and came to a halt behind the counter. He coughed again and John recognised the sounds coming from the wrecked lungs of a lifelong smoker. The old man cleared his throat.

“Hello,” he greeted them crossly, as if the early visit was a nuisance more than anything else. “What can I do for you?”

In response, Kate showed him her warrant card. “We would like to speak to one of your guests. We have reason to believe that a man named Ciaran O'Neill is staying here at the moment.”

The man cleared his throat once again, the air rattling in his throat. “He has a room, aye. But I haven't seen him in a few days.”

“Is that unusual?” John wanted to know.

The receptionist shrugged. “Not really, but you see people come and go occasionally.”

“This is a bed and breakfast, right?” Kate asked and John watched her frown. “Doesn't that usually include breakfast? I assume you'd see him there.”

The old man suddenly gasped for air, following by a loud, rattling cough. John exchanged looks with Kate while the coughing fit went on and he tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for the man to continue.

“We don't offer breakfast anymore,” he explained eventually, still gasping for breath. “We did. My wife used to cook every morning, but she's not so good on her feet anymore.”

That would explain the state of the place, John thought, but he knew better than to say it aloud. Instead, he watched as Kate drew out their warrant and laid it on the counter so the old man could read it.

“We have a warrant for Mr O'Neill's arrest and to search his room,” she said and waited while the man adjusted his glasses on his nose and bent over the piece of paper to read it. “If you could provide us with a key, that would be very helpful.”

The old man looked shocked, to say the least, but complied without protest and once they were handed the spare key, John followed as Kate led the way up the stairs where the owner of the bed and breakfast had told them they would find Ciaran O'Neill's room. Once they were out of sight of the old man, Kate reached for her gun and held it at her side just in case while John simply held his breath. The team wasn't exactly quiet and he knew that if Ciaran O'Neill was already awake, he would most likely hear them coming. If he did, it was likely that he had chosen not to answer when they knocked on his door out of politeness. Kate turned around and they exchanged a glance as they waited for a reply, but when nothing happened, there was only one thing left to do. Kate used the key to unlock the door and John braced himself for the worst.

As the door swung open, Kate raised her weapon and pointed it into the room while John took shelter behind one of the armed men, but to his surprise, nothing happened. The room was empty.

Their first steps were careful and only after Kate had confirmed that there was no one hiding in the bathroom or anywhere else in the room did John finally enter and he looked around to see a complete mess. It was obvious that Ciaran O'Neill had left in a hurry because he had left things behind; things like several dirty socks on the floor and a packet of cigarettes on the bedside table, but his suitcase and wallet were missing which led him to believe that their suspect was unlikely to return. Somehow, he must have known they were coming for him.

“Look at this,” Kate said and when John turned around, he saw that she had opened a couple of drawers and obviously found something of interest because a few seconds later, she pulled out a folder. “He must have left it behind by accident.”

John crossed the room and looked over Kate's shoulder to see what the folder contained, but as she opened it, his heart skipped a beat. At last, they had found their missing link.

“There must be forty or fifty of these in here,” his boss breathed as she skimmed through the photographs that were obviously taken over the span of several months. Photos depicting Bonnie, Belfast, London.. and finally, Kirkwall. Ciaran O'Neill had followed her.

“We're going to take these to the station and examine them,” Kate said and closed the folder just as John spotted something, but he wasn't fast enough to determine whether his mind had played a trick on him or not. Then again, it was hard to tell them apart. “I'm going to tell the owner to call us in case O'Neill comes back.”

“Hang on!” John interrupted her frantically and tore the folder out of her hands. He skimmed through the pictures to go back to the one he had glimpsed before because he had to know. He had to make sure, but he dearly hoped that he was wrong. By now, his heart was hammering in his chest as a terrible possibility occurred to him and when he finally found the photograph again, his heart sank into his boots when he saw the school and Clara's small figure as she entered the building. Ciaran O'Neill hadn't just followed Bonnie around. He had followed Clara, too, which meant that she was in grave danger.


	43. Chapter 43

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *big group hug for the lovely comments*
> 
> Ciaran O'Neill is after Clara, too... will John get to her in time?

“And for tomorrow, please read chapters five and six,” Clara told her students, raising her voice to be louder than the bell that heralded the end of the school day. “And by read I mean don't just skim. There'll be a test soon.”

Her students groaned loudly to make their annoyance at the homework known and Clara vaguely remembered what it was like to be on the receiving end of additional schoolwork, but when it came to English lessons, she had always found it oddly enjoyable. Reading had never seemed like actual work to her, even when it was for school or later for university. But she knew that most students had a different opinion on the matter and it was why she usually gave more homework during the winter months to give her students a little more spare time later over the summer – because she knew that they would just go out and ignore the homework anyway.

“Is the test going to be tomorrow?” Harry, one of her lazier students, asked and it was obvious how inconvenient he found the idea.

Clara decided to play her cards a little more closely to her chest. If she said no, only a handful of students would actually read the chapters by tomorrow. If she said yes and there was no test, the students would complain. Either way, she couldn't win, so instead, she shrugged. “I don't know,” she replied casually. “Maybe tomorrow. Maybe next week. In any case, it's best to be prepared, isn't it?”

Harry didn't reply, but Clara could see him roll his eyes as he walked past her accompanied by his friends and left the classroom. In a matter of minutes, the room had emptied completely, leaving only Clara, her papers and a blackboard full of notes. Not wanting to leave her scribbles for the next teacher to find the next morning, she picked up the eraser and started wiping away the chalk marks until the board was clean and looked as good as new. Once she was happy with the result, Clara walked back towards her desk and considered her options. Maybe she should have her students take the test tomorrow. It would certainly scare them into reading any future chapters more diligently. She picked up her pen and scribbled the word “test” into her planner, adding three question marks so she would remember to make up her mind before tomorrow.

Clara was so deep in thought about the possible test that she became aware of it too late, but the longer she focused on it, the more she could feel it: a presence lingering in the doorway, watching her. She spun around.

“Hello, Clara.”

The moment she spotted Ciaran O'Neill, Clara jumped up from her seat and instantly backed away. She hadn't recognised him at the hardware shop because the police had never shared the details of the suspects in Danny's death with her, but now she wouldn’t forget his face. Not ever. Now, Clara knew exactly who he was. Ciaran O'Neill was the man who had killed Danny.

Her boyfriend's murderer smirked at her as he entered the room slowly, every step he took deliberate and determined. O'Neill kept his eyes firmly on the ground until he was only a few metres away from her and Clara stepped back until she noticed the wall behind her that blocked her exit. Too late she realised that she had made a grave mistake and her heart began to pound in her chest when she realised that he had her cornered.

“You're very hard to get alone these days, always hanging around that detective,” he said and finally looked up. Clara wished she could wipe that smirk off his face. One day, she would. “I’ve got to be honest, I wasn't sure at first whether it was Bonnie or you, but I guess that turned out well for me, didn't it? And for you.”

Clara opened her mouth, but when she spoke, her voice didn't come out quite how she had expected it to. It was rough and hoarse, a croaking sound. “Why?”

Ciaran O'Neill shrugged, flashing a disgustingly bright smile at her. “Because Bonnie was stubborn. She made a mistake and she wouldn't take responsibility for it. People got hurt because of it, innocent people,” he explained slowly and Clara could feel what was to come, but she wouldn't let it get to her. She spent too much time preparing for exactly this moment. “People like your boyfriend.”

The heat rose to her cheeks and Clara swallowed as she tried to hold back the tears. Even after so much time, it still stung; it still hurt like a huge, gaping wound in her heart. She had to remind herself that she had come this far, that she could finish what she’d started. If she didn't, all those sacrifices, all those losses would have been for nothing. “You killed him,” she replied with all the determination she could muster, but the response she got wasn't the one she had expected.

The man chuckled and stepped even closer. If Clara was quick, she could try to make a run for it, but if he caught her, she was doomed. She couldn't scream, she couldn't attract anyone's attention. She only had one chance.

“No, Bonnie killed him,” Ciaran O'Neill said and by the tone of his voice, Clara could tell that he really believed that. “It was her betrayal that triggered the chain of events. Your boyfriend got caught up in it. That's what happens when people like Bonnie start messing with things they shouldn't be messing with.”

O'Neill continued to approach her and Clara waited patiently, biding her time until the right moment presented itself, but she had to be smart. If he was too far away, he would race her to the door and catch her before she was even out of the room. If she let him get too close, he just had to reach out to stop her. There was only a small window of opportunity and Clara had to wait for it while she could feel her pulse in every limb as the adrenaline rushed through her veins. Not long and she would need it to give her strength. When O'Neill took another step, Clara knew that the moment had come. She took a deep breath, filling her lungs with oxygen and she realised that she was shaking when she finally set her body in motion. Her legs were short, but she had always been a fast runner and she had the element of surprise on her side as she darted past him and made a run for the door. She had no idea what he was doing, no idea what was happening behind her because her only goal was the door and she kept her eyes on it at all times. Once she made it out, she would be safe. Just two more steps. Clara was already panting, running out of breath from the unexpected exercise and her legs were burning, but she couldn't give up. Not now, not ever. Just one more step.

Clara screamed. It was a scream of surprise, because she had vowed not to attract attention, but she needn't have worried at all. The sound that came out was nothing but a muffled moan as O'Neill covered her mouth with his hand. The other was wrapped so tightly around her waist as he pulled her back that for a moment, she thought she would never be able to breathe again and before she knew what was happening, her back hit the wall and O'Neill pressed her against the cold stone. She tried to take a breath, but the hand on her mouth was keeping her from doing so and her eyes grew wide as the panic surged through every cell of her body. She was going to die. He would kill her and he would never even be punished for Danny's death. She would never see John again. For some reason, the thought of that made her sad. When Clara was beginning to feel dizzy from the lack of oxygen, she pictured his face and a sense of tranquillity came over her, even though she would never be able to tell him what was really on her mind. She wished she had done so earlier.

Suddenly, the hand was gone and Clara gasped for breath, her lungs filling with air in an instant. She wasn't going to die, but Ciaran O'Neill still didn't let her go. He waited for her to catch her breath, to stop panting, to clear her head, but Clara could tell that he wasn't done with her just yet and even though the thought of what was to come made her afraid, she wouldn't let him see that. There was too much at stake.

“I'm not a monster,” Ciaran O'Neill said, his tone quiet and oddly sincere. “I didn't want to kill your boyfriend. I'm sorry about that. And I don't want to hurt you. Just give me what I want and you'll never see me again.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Clara replied sharply and raised her head so she looked him straight in the eyes. She prayed that he didn't see the fear in them.

A surge of pain ran through her back when Ciaran O'Neill shoved her against the wall once again and she had to refrain from crying out.

“You know exactly what I'm talking about!” he hissed.

“I don't!”

It happened too fast for Clara to really comprehend what was going on, but as he drew a knife from his pocket, she knew that she had lost. The blade was pressed against her throat before she had the chance to say another word and she could feel it pierce her skin. There was pain and the sensation of something warm running down her skin. He was going to kill her after all and the only consolation was that she would get what she wanted. Ciaran O'Neill would go to prison. John would make sure of that.

“You're a liar just like your sister.”

Clara inhaled carefully. Every move she made would only push the blade deeper into her skin. “I didn't know my sister,” she whispered, the despair audible in her voice.

To her surprise, the man chuckled. “You can fool the detective with that, but not me. Give me what I want and I'll be gone from your life. I can't bring your boyfriend back from the dead, but you can start over. I'm sure your pet detective would like that.”

It wasn't fair. What he was offering, what he was threatening her with wasn't fair and she had never actually thought about it because she has been so preoccupied with Danny, but all of a sudden, Clara realised something about herself as she pictured it. Starting over with John was something she wouldn't mind at all.

“Give it to me and I'll let you go,” Ciaran O'Neill promised.

Clara inhaled deeply even though the blade kept cutting her. “I don't know what you're talking about,” she breathed. She closed her eyes and thought about John.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for the lovely comments! Hope you all survived the shock of the cliffhanger :D

Most of the time, John was a pacifist. Even though all of his colleagues opted to carry a gun for their own protection, John had never wanted to, believing that conflict should always be solved without violence first. Of course, there had been a couple of occasions where he had regretted his decision and today was one of those days. Today, he would regret it a lot.

John hadn't even told Kate where he was going, instead, he had taken the car keys off the armed officer and then taken the van without permission before any of them had even realised what was happening. His boss would be furious, she would give him one hell of a lecture, but it was the fastest way to get to Clara without making a detour to the station. Kate and the others could handle themselves because there was nothing to deal with here; they could call for a car to pick them up and they could take all the evidence back to the station while John raced to do something far more important. He had to protect Clara from Ciaran O'Neill.

The school was only a ten-minute drive from the shabby bed and breakfast and yet John felt like he was already too late. He should have acted much sooner, evidence or no evidence. Clara had told him about the encounter with O'Neill at the hardware shop and she had told him about the break-in and he had done nothing to protect her. He should have known that the bastard was keeping an eye on her, stalking her. He should have known that he was aware of her workplace and he should have made sure she was safe. John made a vow right there behind the steering wheel of his borrowed vehicle as he kept on driving, ignoring all the laws as he raced through the streets: if he got to Clara in time, he wouldn't fail her ever again. John would protect her, whatever the cost.

The tyres screeched as he stepped on the brakes right in front of her school and John didn't hesitate for a second before he jumped out of the van and darted inside, but he soon met his first obstacle. He had no idea where to find Clara inside the building.

“Hey! Watch it!” a boy half his size complained when John accidentally bumped into him. That was it. That was his chance.

“Can you tell me where to find Miss Oswald?” he asked, his voice frantic.

John waited patiently while the boy scanned him from head to toe with a raised eyebrow and he seemed to take an eternity to make up his mind about whether he wanted to share his information or not. “Who are you? Her dad?”

“I'll be your worst nightmare if you don't tell me where to find her,” John growled impatiently. If this boy wasn't going to help, he needed to find someone who would and he had to do it quickly.

“Up the stairs, first door on the left,” the boy replied eventually and John didn't even take the time to confirm it. He ran up the stairs, following the boy's instructions while he only faintly heard the student complain about the lack of a 'thank you'. It didn't matter now. What mattered was Clara and getting her home safely.

John was panting when he reached the top of the stairs and even though his entire body told him to rest, he knew that they had no time to lose. He took a deep breath, ignoring the sound of blood rushing in his ears when his feet suddenly came to a halt as if by instinct. Not really knowing why he had stopped at first, John took a moment to listen and it was then that he heard it and the sound made his blood run cold.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Clara sobbed desperately and when she cried out, John almost jumped in, but he had to remind himself to be smart. Ciaran O'Neill was dangerous and right now, John wished more than ever that he had a gun. If only he had been a little faster.

“I think you're a liar and I think you're very good at it,” a man's voice said slowly in a calm manner. “But I also think that Bonnie was smart. She knew we were after her and she’ll have hidden it with someone she trusted.”

“I didn't even know her,” Clara asserted, followed by another sob.

John didn't care about what O'Neill said next, as his eyes were scanning the corridor for a suitable weapon. If he took him by surprise, he could overpower O'Neill, but he only had one shot at it, one blow and it had to be a good one. He spotted a stack of books, some stray chairs and, at last, a couple of cricket bats leaning neatly against the wall. John picked one of them up and carefully made his way towards the door.

“I need it, Clara,” O'Neill almost begged her. “My friends need it. Wouldn't you do the same for your friends if they were in trouble? Believe me when I say that I take no pleasure in hurting you, but if I have to-”

“I don't even know what you're looking for,” Clara replied, her voice small and broken.  
John glanced around the corner.

Ciaran O'Neill was pressing Clara against the wall, holding a knife to her throat and the sight of it made the rage swell up inside of him. She was crying and she was bleeding and O'Neill seemed to show no mercy at all, and John knew that he had to act quickly before he was spotted. But how was he supposed to do it? If he struck him now, he could hurt Clara. The risk was too great. The only thing he could do was the thing he had tried to avoid at all cost. John took a deep breath, tightened his grip on the bat and stepped into the room.

“Hey, you!” he called out.

Ciaran O'Neill shot around in an instant and Clara gasped audibly when he let her go, but before he could do anything else, John took a swing and struck O'Neill hard across the head. The man fell to the ground and John stepped past him, catching Clara at the last moment before she slid to the floor. She flung her arms around his neck, sobbing into his chest while he closed his arms tightly around her waist in return. Everything was going to be fine. Clara was unharmed. He hadn't come too late.

“It's okay,” John whispered. “You're safe now. It's going to be okay.”

There was a shuffling sound from behind him and John instantly looked over his shoulder, already bracing himself for the worst, but what he saw was the blurred shape of Ciaran O'Neill as he darted out of the room. For a moment, John considered running after him, ending this chase once and for all, but Clara was clinging to him and he knew that it was only a matter of time until O'Neill was caught for good. They had enough evidence now; John had personally witnessed the assault on Clara; they were on an island, and Ciaran O'Neill had nowhere to hide. They would catch him, John knew it. So for now, he decided to focus entirely on Clara.

Once the sobbing had subsided, John led her to the nearest chair and she sank down wordlessly and without looking at him. She seemed so small and frail all of a sudden and he couldn't blame her for it, but he had no idea what to do. Once again, he felt like the least useful person in this situation.

“Are you alright?” John asked carefully. “Did he hurt you?”

As if by instinct, Clara reached for the cut on her neck, but when John bent down to have a closer look, he noticed to his relief that the blood was already beginning to dry. 

Nevertheless, he crossed the classroom and reached for the first aid kit attached to the wall. Pulling up a chair, he sat down next to Clara and started to clean the wound as carefully as he could. He was no doctor, but he knew how to apply a plaster.

“It's not as bad as it probably feels,” he reassured her as he placed the plaster over the cut. However, the injury could have been avoided if he had acted immediately. That was on him and his own tardiness.

“Thank you,” Clara replied hoarsely and then did something that took him by surprise. She leaned forward and brought their lips together for a short, soft kiss before she pulled away almost instantly.

John opened his mouth to say something, but he couldn't think of anything that had meaning, so he decided to shut up.

“If you hadn't come-”

“Don't think about that,” John interrupted her instantly. “It doesn't matter. I was here, O'Neill is gone and I'll make sure he won't hurt you ever again.”

For a moment, it looked like Clara was going to protest, but eventually, she nodded. John knew that it was a bad moment, but he still needed to ask. He needed something to tell Kate.

“What did he want?” John asked carefully.

Clara hesitated. “I, um, I don't know. He kept talking about Bonnie.”

John nodded in reply and then reached out to take her hand. She still looked a little lost even though she was calming down. “We have enough evidence to hold him now. Evidence that he was stalking you and Bonnie, and I witnessed the attack. We'll put him behind bars, I promise, but you'll still have to give a statement.”

“Is that really necessary?” Clara wanted to know, frowning at him. He could tell that there were probably a whole lot of things she would rather do than return to the station and be questioned by Kate.

“It won't be like last time. This is strictly about what happened here. No one will mention Danny or anything else, you have my word.”

“He said it,” she replied coldly. Clara turned her head and looked straight at him. For some strange reason, there was no grief in her eyes now. There was a hint of anger and something else, something John didn't recognise. “He said he was the one who killed Danny.”

He squeezed her hand a little more tightly. “With the evidence we found and your statement, Ciaran O'Neill will go to prison.”

“Good,” Clara concluded and when she looked at him, her eyes flashed up for just a moment and John felt a shiver run down over the back of his neck when he finally recognised that look in her eyes for what it was. It was the cold gleam of satisfaction.


	45. Chapter 45

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to all you awesome commenters :)))

Clara was immensely grateful when John reached out to take her hand as they walked into the police station a short while later and his touch brought her back to reality. On the way to the station, Clara had gone over everything that had happened. The attack. Her feelings for John. All the things she had never told him. Starting over with John seemed like a wonderful dream and up until today, she hadn't even been aware that she was thinking about it. A part of her wanted to give him an honest chance even though she still thought about Danny every single day, but maybe that would all be over soon. John had said it, hadn't he? There was enough evidence to put Ciaran O'Neill behind bars and that was what Clara wanted most of all. There was a way for her to get what she wanted without hurting John. He would never have to find out what really happened. If he did, John would probably never forgive her.

“Hey, are you okay?” John asked gently and Clara turned her head, trying her best to smile at him. He was always so sweet, so kind and she knew that he wasn't like that to everyone. It made it all the more special.

“Yeah,” Clara breathed in reply. “Just a little shaken, that's all.”

“You just have to answer a couple of questions, then we can go home.”

“We?” she asked, but she never got a reply because all of a sudden, an angry voice resounded through the corridor.

When she looked up, Clara spotted Kate as she approached them, the impatient clicking of her high heels betraying her fury. “DI Smith, you are lucky I am not arresting you for theft!” she shouted towards them. “I want to see you in my office immediately! Alone!”

“It'll have to wait,” John replied determinedly when Kate came to a halt in front of them. “Clara was just attacked by Ciaran O'Neill.”

Clara watched Kate's eyes widen as she looked at her and obviously spotted the plaster right under her jaw. At last, the meaning of what John had said seemed to dawn on her. “Oh my God, are you alright?”

She nodded. “I will be,” Clara confirmed. “John showed up at exactly the right moment.”

“Which I wouldn't have if I hadn't stolen the car,” he mumbled next to her.

“Quiet, you,” Kate hushed him in a harsh manner. “We'll talk about that later.”

John obviously knew that he was defeated because he lowered his head while Kate turned her attention back towards Clara. “I know it's not a good moment, but do you think you could give a statement? The sooner you do, the sooner we can use it against O'Neill. We have men searching for him, but it might speed things up if people know that he's a threat.”

Once again, Clara nodded. “Of course,” she said and then cleared her throat. The determination was back in her voice. “I want to see him locked up.”

Suddenly, John let go of her hand and Clara turned to frown at him when he did. “I'll see you after the statement,” he said, smiling a little.

“Aren't you going come in with me?” She had thought he would. He had been there last time.

Yet John shrugged, an apologetic look on his face that immediately told Clara he would not be joining her in the interview room. “I witnessed the attack. We can't risk influencing each other's statements, but you'll be fine. Just tell Kate what happened. I'll wait right here.”

Knowing that she didn't have another choice, Clara looked at John one last time, memorizing the smile on his face before Kate gently placed her hand on Clara's shoulder and started leading her away. It was going to be fine. She just had to tell Kate exactly what had happened with O'Neill.

The interview room was the same she had already been in before and they hadn't made any efforts at making it a little more homely. A table, a few chairs and the tape recorder. Clara thought it could have done with a framed picture or at least a plant. When Kate gestured for her to sit down, Clara suddenly felt a lot less nervous. John was right, she only had to talk to Kate about what had happened earlier and this time, she had nothing to hide whatsoever. Yet when Kate started to speak, Clara was surprised at her choice of topic.

“You and John are very close, aren't you?” she wanted to know.

For a moment, Clara felt a little taken aback. She hadn't expected to be questioned about him. “Yeah, um,” she paused, “he's been a great help. A great friend.”

Kate smiled. “Are you two romantically involved?”

Clara's mouth fell open. So much for just answering questions about the incident with Ciaran O'Neill. Yet when Clara took a closer look at Kate's smile, she realised that the detective hadn't asked out of malice or because she thought it had something to do with the case. No, this time, Kate was merely curious.

“I, uh,” Clara attempted to say, but broke off. “I don't know. Maybe. Probably not.”

“It's okay, I don't mind,” Kate reassured her in a kind manner. “I mean, I wasn't thrilled at first when I thought you might have been involved in Bonnie Moore's death somehow and as John's boss, I think it's sort of my duty to make sure he doesn't get too friendly with a suspect.”

“I get that,” Clara replied and it felt as if a weight dropped off her shoulders the moment Kate let her know that she had been a suspect but was no longer.

“He's not the most sociable person, but once you're his friend, you can always rely on him,” the detective told her before she put on a more stern expression. “Be sure you appreciate it.”

Clara wanted to reply and tell her that she definitely would, but she didn't have a chance when Kate suddenly turned around and switched on the tape recorder without giving Clara a moment to brace herself. They covered the formalities. Name, occupation, consequences of lying and eventually, Kate got to the point.

“Why don't you tell me what happened today?”

Clara took a deep breath. Once this was over, she could go home with John. “Well, it was right after school. The students had left and I was clearing up and taking some notes and suddenly, O’Neill was there,” Clara began and told Kate everything that had happened up to the point where John had stepped in and saved her. When it was over, Clara leaned back in her chair with a sigh, feeling as if she had just gone through the entire attack a second time.

“And O’Neill got away?” Kate wanted to know.

Clara nodded. “I'm afraid that it was my fault. John was so busy making sure that I was alright and-”

“Don't worry about it,” the detective said immediately, cutting her off. “We're on an island and we're monitoring the ferries and airports. Ciaran O'Neill won't be able to hide forever. We'll find him.”

“Good to know.”

Yet a small frown appeared on Kate's face as she leaned a little closer. “And you have no idea what he was after? No clue at all?”

“No,” Clara denied, shaking her head to underline her statement. “I think it had something to do with Bonnie, but he didn't say anything else. Just that it was important to him and his friends.”

Kate hesitated for a long moment and Clara was already beginning to dread the next question when the detective suddenly blew the air out between her teeth. “Alright,” she said eventually and reached out to stop the recording. “You can go.”

* * *

While Clara was being questioned by Kate, John gave his own statement to another colleague, describing in detail how he had found the pictures of Clara in Ciaran O'Neill's hideout and concluded that she was in danger. He described how he had shown up at exactly the right moment, overpowered O'Neill with a cricket bat and let him escape while the tape spun and around as it recorded. Finally, the detective let him off the hook and when John stepped out on the corridor, he spotted Clara as she and Kate walked towards him. He was glad to see that she looked a little less pale by now and the relief was visible on her face.

“Hey, how did it go?” John asked when he had reached them.

Clara smiled at him. “Well, I think. I don't think I forgot anything.”

“If you remember anything else, don't hesitate to call me or tell John, okay?” Kate asked.

“Will do,” Clara confirmed and John turned his head to watch Kate leave. At last, she seemed to finally have given up on the idea that Clara was a suspect. Well, she would have been incredibly stupid to still hold on to that theory now they had proof of Ciaran O'Neill stalking her.

“How are you feeling?” John wanted to know, eyeing Clara a little more closely now, but to his surprise, she started to chuckle.

“Actually, I'm feeling pretty tired right now. And also a little hungry. I just want to go home and put my feet up,” she admitted.

“Yeah, about that-” John broke off when he watched Clara raise her eyebrows and suddenly, he wasn't quite sure how she was going to react to his suggestion. But he had thought about it all the way back to the station and his mind was made up. He wasn't going to take no for an answer. “I don't want you to go back to yours on your own, not while Ciaran O'Neill is still at large.”

Her response was exactly the one he had been expecting. Even though John had only known her for a while, he already knew that she was a proud woman, one who hated to show even the tiniest amount of weakness. Clara rolled her eyes. “Where else would I go?” she asked. “Or are you going to post a few armed guards around my house?”

“You can stay with me,” John suggested immediately. “You know I have a guest bedroom, you've already stayed in it. And instead of armed guards, you'd have a furrier protector. Please, Clara, just for a few days. I hate the idea of you in that house on your own.”

Clara took a moment to consider it and it was obvious she was searching for an excuse as to why she couldn't. Yet apparently, she couldn't think of a good reason why she shouldn't stay with him. “You're not going to take no for an answer, are you?”

John shook his head.

“Fine,” Clara growled eventually, glowering at him. “But at least let me go home and get a few clothes.”

John wanted to sigh in relief, but he had a feeling that Clara wouldn't appreciate it. Not that it mattered very much because she had made the right decision. John would keep her safe.


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *looks at the clock* Damn, it's chapter posting time :D Thank you guys so much for your kind comments! Hope you enjoy the next one, too ;)

Clara wasn't pleased with his suggestion, John could tell. Even though she had agreed to it and probably knew that it was for the best, she just didn't give off the impression that she was happy with the arrangement. After leaving the station, John drove her to her house so she could pack and he helped her carry her bag into his guest bedroom afterwards, but Clara remained quiet most of the time except for the moments where she politely thanked him for his help. John felt at a loss. Was she still in shock after Ciaran O'Neill's attack? Was there something she wasn't telling him? Or could it be the unspoken thing between them that she refused to talk about? The last two times they had spent a little more time together, it had ended in a kiss each time. Was that what she was afraid of? Given her still-recent loss, it wouldn't surprise him. But as long as she didn't talk to him about it, there was little he could do to help.

Still, John was determined to make her feel welcome and at home in his house, so he carefully stepped into the living room and when he entered, a smile spread across his face at the sight in front of him. Clara was sitting on the sofa next to Odin, massaging his ears and talking to him in a soft voice. He wasn't entirely sure what she was saying to him, but his dog obviously enjoyed it.

“I see you're bribing the guard dog with ear rubs,” John remarked and Clara's head shot around in an instant. He had taken her by surprise.

“John, I didn't hear you come in,” she replied.

“I was going to make dinner, but I wanted to ask if there was anything specific you'd like,” he explained carefully. “Or maybe we could cook together?”

Clara seemed to consider it for a moment, then shrugged. “I'll have what you're having,” she replied as she rose from her seat. “But I'll definitely help you cook.”

Odin seemed to know what was going on because he too followed them into the kitchen where John immediately opened the fridge only to have one important realisation: it was nearly empty except for some cheese and sour cream. Not knowing what else to do, he opened the cupboards as well to find a bag of potatoes and bread. With an apologetic smile on his lips, John turned to face Clara.

“I'm sorry, I'm afraid I forgot to go to the supermarket,” he confessed. “I suppose you don't feel like eating out?”

In response, Clara stepped past him and glanced into the almost empty cupboard. “I see potatoes,” she noted with a shrug. “That could be chips or mash or fried potatoes.”

“I have sour cream,” John suggested.

Clara granted him a smile. “Baked potatoes then.”

Despite her smile and although Clara got straight to work, sorting through the potatoes and scrubbing them, John could tell that most of it was a mask and that underneath, her thoughts were probably miles away and he wanted to find out what they were about, but he had to be careful about it. Not knowing what else to do, he also grabbed a couple of potatoes and held them under the tap.

“Thank you for letting me stay here, by the way,” Clara said of her own accord, but she didn't look at him. “You were right. It's probably not the best idea for me to be on my own right now.”

“Because Ciaran O'Neill is still after you or because of… what happened earlier?” John asked carefully, watching her closely.

Clara suddenly stopped what she was doing and turned her head, looking right at him. There was still a hint of fear in her eyes. “Both,” she admitted.

“It must be difficult, so if you ever feel the need to talk about it-” John broke off, laughing a little. “I'm probably not the right person, but we have trauma experts at the station and they're so much better at this than I am.”

In response, Clara smiled at him again. “Thank you, but I don't think that will be necessary. You'll catch O’Neill and then it'll all be over. I'll be fine, I just don't want to be alone right now.”

Still, John wasn't entirely convinced. Maybe it wasn't the shock. Maybe it was something else entirely. He wouldn't know unless she told him. “Are you sure?”

At last, Clara chuckled and she reached out to give him a soft nudge. “I'm tougher than I look, trust me,” she reassured him and without saying another word, Clara turned her attention back on the potatoes. Reaching for a towel, she started to dry them off one by one.

“So, um, I didn't hear much of your conversation with O'Neill,” John went on, his voice cautious, “but I had the impression that he was after something and he thought you had it.”

Clara inhaled sharply. “Ciaran O'Neill asked me about it, Kate asked me about it and I still don't know what he was talking about,” she replied without looking at him. The potato in her hand was dry, but Clara kept on rubbing it with a towel. If she wasn't careful, she would peel it like that. For some reason, she was overcompensating. In his many years as a detective, he had often seen this kind of behaviour and it usually implied that the person was hiding something. Was Clara hiding something from him, too? Or was she just trying to hide how the encounter with O'Neill had really affected her?

“Do you have an inkling what it could be?” John wanted to know. He had to tread carefully here. The last thing he wanted was to stick his finger deeper into the wound, but he just had to know. “I mean, did he maybe say something that could lead you to believe it was something specific?”

Clara blew the air out between her teeth, but she still avoided his gaze even as she placed the potatoes aside. “I don't know,” she replied gruffly. “He just said it had something to do with Bonnie.”

John opened his mouth, ready to ask another question when Clara cut him off.

“Can we change the subject now?” she demanded. At last, she turned her head, eyes on him – but she still wasn't meeting his gaze. Was she telling him the truth? Was she lying? John had no idea. Right now, it felt as if he didn't know her at all.

John swallowed hard. “Of course,” he replied. “I'm sorry. Let's focus on the food, shall we?”

Clara seemed to agree because without saying another word, she reached for the tin foil and started to wrap up the potatoes and John set about helping her. Only this time, it was John's mind that was miles away while he kept on wondering what it was that Clara wasn't telling him.


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all your amazing comments! Will Clara open up to John at last? What is her secret? Are we going to find out soon?

With a large cup of coffee in his hands, John trudged towards his office, his legs achy and leaden. Maybe it was the weather or maybe he should have tried to get some sleep instead of wondering why Clara had acted so strangely. This morning, however, she seemed to have been over whatever had bothered her yesterday. They had joked over breakfast and she had laughed at him for forgetting to go to the supermarket, not at all cross that she had to eat a dry slice of toast. That unadulterated laugh, that honest smile and the sparkle in her eyes had instantly swept away his doubt. Yet now that he had dropped her off at work with the promise of picking her up right after school, John simply felt tired. Or maybe he was just getting old.

Kate was already waiting by his office door – as was a large box – and John didn't need a lot of imagination to know what he would find in it. It carried a sticker that labelled it as evidence and right now, he regretted not bringing a second cup of coffee. He would certainly need it because he was looking at a whole day of sorting and examining photographs.

“Morning,” Kate greeted him. She didn't smile, but she also didn't give off the impression that she was still holding a grudge against him for stealing the van the previous day. “Ready to dig through Ciaran O'Neill's extensive collection of stalker photos?”

John took a sip of his coffee, cursing instantly as the almost scalding brew burned his lips. It was too hot to drink. “Yeah,” he hissed. “Bring it on.”

After unlocking the door, John stepped inside his office, followed by Kate who set down the box right on his desk. There was no chance he could avoid going through them all today.

“Any news about O'Neill?” John wanted to know, blowing on his hot drink to cool it down.

His boss shrugged. “Not sure. They picked someone up last night. He caused trouble at the harbour,” she explained, blowing the air out between her teeth. “I'm going to go and see if it's our favourite stalker _slash_ murder suspect.”

By the tone of her voice, John could tell that Kate didn't actually believe it. Ciaran O'Neill wouldn't cause trouble if he could avoid it. If their theories were right, he had managed to kill at least two people, one of which he had stalked for months, and he had got away with it. A man like that would lie low until a chance at escape presented itself. However, there was no escape from this island on any official route. As soon as he showed up at the harbour or airport, the police would arrive before he had the chance to board a vessel. But a man like Ciaran O'Neill would know that also. John just couldn't believe he would get caught so easily.

 

Once Kate had left, John took a large sip from his coffee mug and opened the box, determined to sort through the photos. There had to be a lead in there somewhere, something that would help them find O'Neill. The first photo he took out was one of Bonnie, taken when she was leaving a house – probably somewhere in London. Nothing that was of interest to them right now. The second photo was the one he had already seen at the bed and breakfast, the one of Clara in front of her school and John tried his best to suppress the rage that instantly rose up inside of him. He had dealt with murderers before, with thieves, with all sorts of scum, but this was a whole different kind of messed up. There was almost something perverted about the way Ciaran O'Neill had followed Bonnie and Clara around, taking photos when they had believed themselves to be unobserved. John vowed that the next time he saw him, Ciaran O'Neill would get more than a punch in the face for what he had done.

The next photo he took from the box was even worse as it showed Clara in front of her house, eyes closed, soaking up what little warmth the winter sun was giving her and John was ready to discard the photo when something held him back. Something wasn't right and John felt it long before he knew what exactly was bothering him. He frowned and took a closer look. For almost five minutes, John didn't take his eyes off the photograph.

The longer he looked the more convinced he became that the woman in the picture wasn't Clara at all but Bonnie. Yet even though he had registered it, his mind wouldn't accept the fact because it made no sense. Clara hadn't known Bonnie. There was no reason for Bonnie to be standing in front of her house. And yet it was Bonnie without a doubt. The way she wore her hair, the expression on her face, the clothes – even though they looked alike, none of it reminded him of Clara in the least. Over the past few weeks, John had studied her. Not in a scientific manner, but because he wanted to get to know her. He had paid close attention to the details of her face, the way she frowned and the way she smiled because he was desperate to know what it meant and the expression he was seeing on the photo was not one he had ever seen on Clara. John wasn't sure what it meant, but the person in the picture was not Clara.

John almost dropped the photo in surprise when the door suddenly burst open and Kate walked back into the room. His mind still flooded with the possibilities of what his find could imply, John dropped the photo on the stack with the other discarded ones.

“Negative,” Kate said with a heavy sigh as she closed the door behind her.

John had no idea what she was talking about, so he frowned at her. “Negative?” he enquired.

His boss seemed annoyed, to say the least, and she rolled her eyes at him. “The man they caught is not Ciaran O'Neill. He's a teenager and only just starting to sober up.”

“Oh,” John replied, not knowing what else to say. Of course, they had talked about Ciaran O'Neill before. Kate had left to see if they had caught him.

“What about you?” Kate suddenly asked. “Found anything useful?”

While working this case, John had already been caught withholding evidence once and it would be a stupid idea to do it again. But he knew what would happen if he didn't. Kate had only just stopped treating Clara as a suspect and telling her who the woman in the photograph really was would most definitely make her reconsider investigating in that direction. John couldn't allow that. He had to figure out by himself what it meant, why Bonnie had been photographed in front of Clara's house and he refused to believe in the worst-case scenario until he had confirmation.

“No,” he lied instead. “Nothing.”

Still, Kate didn't seem entirely convinced or maybe she just wanted to have a look at the photos herself, but she approached his desk and picked up the one photo he had just stared at for five minutes. His boss regarded it for a long moment and John felt his heart sink. She wouldn't see it, would she?

“I'm going to put that stalker behind bars,” Kate eventually said, her voice sharp and determined as she dropped the photo back on the stack. “He will not leave this island except in handcuffs.”

His sigh was inaudible when John leaned back in his chair. They were so close to solving this case once and for all and yet, John felt as if he was still missing a large piece of the puzzle. Whether he wanted to believe it or not, somehow, Clara was involved in it.


	48. Chapter 48

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so so so much for the amazing comments :) The plot seems to thicken at last. But will John act on his suspicion?

John was worried when he arrived at Clara's school only to find that she had already left. His first instinct was that Ciaran O'Neill had been quicker and got to her during the brief period between her finishing teaching and him arriving to pick her up, but he felt relieved when one of her colleagues soon approached him with a message. Clara had already gone home.

When he stepped inside his house, John felt a little cross at Clara for just sneaking off even though she was a grown woman and responsible for her own actions, but he had vowed to keep her safe and he was going to fail if she didn't play along. However, as he entered the house, it was the smell that immediately caught his attention and made the anger fade away in an instant. He found Clara in the kitchen, stirring something in a pot on the stove and it smelled heavenly.

“Hey,” Clara said, greeting him with a smile. “You're just on time. Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.”

Odin, lying next to Clara's feet, raised his head. Some days, John thought that his dog understood every word, but that wasn't his concern right now.

“I wanted to pick you up from school,” John said and he immediately realised that it sounded like an accusation. And it was, in a way. He had worried about her.

Clara seemed to feel it because she dropped the spoon into the pot and turned around to face him, an apologetic look on her face. “I know,” she replied. “I'm sorry. I just… well, you've helped so much, you're letting me stay here and I wasn't really appreciative of that. I just wanted to do something nice.”

Looking around the kitchen, John instantly noticed how she was planning to repay him. Compared to yesterday, the cupboards now seemed fully stocked and the smell that hung in the air promised a delicious dinner. She had shopped and now she was cooking for him. It was hard to be properly annoyed. John shrugged at her. “You could've done something nice after I picked you up,” he argued. “I just want you to be safe.”

Clara sighed and let her shoulders sink. “I know,” she said and a smile spread across her face. “But nothing happened. And I promise I won't do it again. Just let me have this one thing, let me surprise you just once.”

Looking at her smile, John couldn't help himself. He started to chuckle. “Alright, but tomorrow, you'll stay put until I pick you up, okay?”

“Okay,” she agreed, grinning at him. “Can you set the table while I finish cooking?”

Without waiting for his response, Clara turned her attention towards the food once again, stirring whatever smelt so heavenly and John took a moment to look at her. Her mood had lifted so much since the previous day and even though she now seemed entirely at ease, John couldn't help but think about what he had found today. After only knowing each other for a short while, John couldn't expect to know every detail of her life, he couldn't expect to know all of her secrets, but he did know that she was keeping something from him and he had this nasty feeling that it was about Bonnie, about Ciaran O'Neill, about whatever was going on. While Clara had her back turned to him, John reached into his pocket and pulled out the photograph he had taken home and lifted it up to compare it to her silhouette. They looked identical, almost eerily so, and it was no surprise to him that Kate had immediately assumed it was Clara, but John knew better. Her posture, her expression, even her clothes – none of that matched. The woman in the photograph was Bonnie and no one else.

“Today, Kate and I went through the evidence we found at the bed and breakfast where Ciaran O'Neill was staying,” John said almost absent-mindedly.

Clara turned her head, frowning in his direction. “Did you find anything useful?”

John exhaled sharply and stepped closer, holding out the photo for Clara to see. “We found a lot of pictures that O'Neill had taken over what we assume was months. Pictures of Bonnie. And also of you,” he explained softly.

Clara reached for the photo and regarded it for a while and somehow, it seemed as if the news didn't surprise her at all. Shouldn't she be surprised?

“So you think Ciaran O'Neill stalked us both?” Clara asked him, but her eyes never left the photo. Was she seeing what he was seeing? That the woman in the photograph wasn't her but her twin sister? If she did, her reaction didn't give it away.

“Maybe he wasn't sure which one of you was which,” he theorized and then, John remembered something. The person who had arrived on this island before Bonnie's death had used Clara's passport. “Oh, by the way, have you ever checked if you've still got your passport?”

Her frown deepened. “Why wouldn't I have it? It's with all my other documents.”

The documents Clara had given him to safeguard them for her. The papers that were locked away in his safe. Maybe he should have a look at them just to see if it was there. And maybe he shouldn't tell Clara of his intentions.

“Do you remember the day this photo was taken?” John asked instead.

Clara looked at it again, but she wasn't really looking. Her eyes seemed unfocused as if she was only pretending to consider her answer. “No,” she replied eventually and then promptly handed the photo back to him. “I'm sorry, I don't. I don't keep track of every time I leave the house.”

John wanted to believe that Clara had nothing to do with Bonnie's death, but he was still a detective and he couldn't help but notice that the clues that were piling up, indicating that she knew at least something about it. If she confided in him, he would help her, but her trust only seemed to go so far. He had to figure it out by himself.

Once Clara had gone to sleep and even Odin was snoozing on his favourite rug, John still lay awake, thinking about everything he had uncovered so far, thinking about everything he didn't know yet. Either Clara had lied about leaving the island or Bonnie had arrived using Clara's passport. Bonnie had spent a week here before she met her untimely end, but where had she stayed? What had she been up to? Why was there a photograph linking her to Clara's house when Clara had repeatedly sworn that she had never met her sister before? Why was Ciaran O'Neill after Clara and what did he want from her? How had Bonnie Moore really died? It all came down to one thing: Clara Oswald was lying.

John laughed when he realised he might have seen it sooner hadn't it been for his feelings for Clara, and he had feelings, that he was certain of. John was in love with her and Kate had been absolutely right to warn him about falling for a suspect. His feelings were getting in the way of this case.

Not knowing what else to do, knowing that Clara would never willingly tell him the truth, John rose from his bed and walked through the long hallway until he had reached the cupboard behind which the safe was hidden. It was a breach of trust, but Clara didn't trust him either, did she? He was a detective and he was well within his rights to investigate, so he pulled out the little metal box Clara had given him and held it in his hands for a long moment, wondering whether he actually wanted to know what it contained.


	49. Chapter 49

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, guys!!! *big group hug*
> 
> P.S. I love reading your theories about this story :D

Something woke her up and Clara didn't really know what it was, but as she slowly came back to her senses and became aware of the strange surroundings that weren't her own home, the realisation slowly dawned on her – as did the feeling of a parched throat. Since the glass on her bedside table didn't contain enough water to relieve the feeling of thirst, Clara swung her legs out of bed, feeling surprisingly awake for just having woken up, and made her way towards the kitchen. What also came as a bit of a surprise to her when she left the bedroom was to find that the lights were still on in the lounge. Clara stopped and frowned, listening intently to any sounds she might hear, but there weren't any.

She thought back and she could have sworn that John had gone to bed at the same time she had; she even remembered him saying goodnight while she had been brushing her teeth. Had he accidentally left the lights on? Did he get up again because he, too, felt thirsty? Or was there a deeper, more dangerous reason for the illuminated living room? Her blood froze as she imagined Ciaran O'Neill sitting on the sofa, come to take from her what she couldn't give. Clara had made her decision and she vowed to make sure that everything went to John after O'Neill was arrested. She couldn't tell him about what she knew and still hope they had a future together, so the only way was to make sure that John received all the information without ever knowing she had had it.

Carefully, Clara stepped into the living room, already dreading whatever was awaiting her, but then she saw something she had least expected and her heart instantly sank into her boots. John had his back turned towards her, but still, Clara could see the box he was holding in his hands, the box that she had given to him so he would keep it safe, but she hadn't meant for him to look at it. If he learned of her secret like this, he would never forgive her. But what was she going to do about it when he was so close to discovering everything? Even though the mental image of finding O'Neill in this room had frightened her, what she saw now scared her even more.

“John?” Clara said quietly, her voice a little hoarse from sleep. He spun around and looked at her like a deer caught in the headlights. “What are you doing?”

“I, uh,” he stammered but then broke off. It was obvious that he hadn't meant to get caught because he was lost for words and Clara knew that she should probably feel betrayed – she would have, if it hadn't been for her own betrayal. John was stood still except for the awkward shuffling of his feet, his eyes never leaving her, and he didn’t say another word as his hands clutched at the box as if hanging on for dear life.

Clara swallowed hard and took a step closer, her mind racing with the possibility of her secret coming to light right here, right now and a part that was buried deep down inside of her was desperate for him to open the box and let out the shadow that had been haunting her for too long.

“I wanted to see whether your passport was in it,” John admitted after a long while, still clutching the box in his hands as if he hadn't made up his mind about looking inside. He lowered his eyes and focused on what his hands were doing. “Either you lied to me and you indeed left this island and came back or Bonnie used your passport when she arrived here and that means-”

“That means I shouldn't have my passport because it was stolen,” Clara finished his sentence, her voice hardly more than a whisper.

“You said you do,” he argued. “You said it was with all your other documents. I assumed you meant it was in the box.”

She both wanted him to open the box and see for himself what the contents were, and yet she didn't want him to. Clara couldn't make up her mind. Maybe it would have been easier for her to make a decision if she could be sure that he wouldn’t leave her. Since Ciaran O'Neill's attack, Clara had known that she wanted to be with John, that she wanted them to be together. Whether she was ready or not, whether the ghost of Danny still haunted her, Clara wanted to give John a chance because he was the first man since that horrible accident that had touched her heart. John was always kind, he always understood and in his presence, Clara felt right for the first time since she had lost her fiancé. There was no way she would give that feeling up.

Gently, Clara reached out and touched the box so that both their hands were holding it, but she didn’t try to pull at it. John had to hand it over willingly. “Do you trust me?” Clara wanted to know. “Do you trust me when I say that I didn't kill my twin sister?”

A frown appeared on his forehead. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“It's the question you're really asking, isn't it?” Clara enquired, arching her eyebrows at him. “It's what you really want to know and I can give you the answer. I didn't kill Bonnie.”

Finally, John raised his head a little and their eyes met. He stared right into hers for a long moment as if the truth was hidden in them and eventually, Clara mustered a smile. 

“I trust you,” he whispered in response. A weight dropped off her shoulders, but the shadows in her mind didn't vanish.

“Thank you.”

Clara could feel him tug at the box as he attempted to turn towards the safe and lock it back up, but she held on tight and instead, pulled him down to meet her. The moment their lips touched, Clara felt her heart leap with joy and her stomach filled with the oddest tingling sensation she hadn't felt in such a long time. It occurred to her that maybe her friend Amy had seen this coming all along, but Clara hadn't been sure until a couple of days ago. The joy and the tingling were merely the confirmation that she really was falling in love, when she had never expected that to happen again.

Instead of returning the box to the safe, John dropped it on the sofa next to them and used his hands for a much better purpose. He raised them and gently cupped her cheeks, pulling her just a little deeper into the kiss. Right now, she believed it was the best thing she had ever felt and Clara leaned forward and let herself fall against his strong, warm chest. Finally, when they started to run out of air, Clara giggled and broke the kiss. As she opened her eyes and looked at John, she could see the same joy she felt right there on his silly face and it made her want to laugh even more.

“I trust you,” John repeated, his breath a little ragged. He was grinning at her, but Clara wasn't in the mood for talking or promises of trust. John had rekindled something in her, a flame she had believed to be extinguished forever.

She reached out and grabbed him by the collar of his pyjama top. “Shut up,” Clara breathed in a hushed voice and pulled him down for another kiss, determined that tonight would be the first night she didn't have to spend on her own. Maybe that would finally drive away the shadows from her past.


	50. Chapter 50

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *grins at your lovely comment* Thank you, guys!

A silence had settled over the bedroom and for a long while, John didn't mind it at all. An odd sense of tranquillity mingled with all the thoughts that were trying to push through inside his head, but none of it mattered when he remembered the woman in his arms. Absent-mindedly, John stroked the bare skin of her arm, trying to think about how soft it was instead of why she had fallen silent and what might be going through her mind. And yet the thoughts kept niggling away at him. Was she alright? Did she regret it? John knew that he would never be able to feel regret over this wonderful evening, but he wasn't quite so certain about Clara.

The truth was that he had secretly hoped for this moment, but he hadn't dared actually dream about it and now that she was lying in his arms, John was certain that he didn't want to let her go. He had missed the sensation of someone next to him, their naked bodies pressed together under the sheets, more than anything else – even more than what they had done ten minutes ago. After years of trying hard to ignore what he had been feeling, John could finally pin it down as loneliness. He had felt lonely and the possibility of that coming to an end made his heart skip a beat.

Eventually, his curiosity and his concern won over and he turned his head to look at Clara. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling and she appeared to be deep in thought. “Are you alright?” John asked cautiously, his voice no more than a whisper.

For a long moment, Clara didn't reply at all. Then, she nodded softly. A weight dropped off his shoulders, yet, it didn't quite satisfy his curiosity. Something was bothering her, otherwise, she wouldn't be that quiet.

“Do you regret it?”

Again, she hesitated and John could feel the heaviness return as he feared the worst. In his head, he saw himself slipping back into loneliness if Clara decided she didn't want to be with him after all. Yet she turned her head and looked straight at him with big, sad eyes. Even though he tried very hard, he couldn't find regret in them after all. There was sadness and guilt, but no trace of regret.

“No,” she replied eventually and granted him a soft smile. “It was wonderful. _You_ were wonderful.”

A sudden surge of pride rose up inside of him and John tried his best to suppress it, knowing that it was anything but the right moment to show off. The smile slowly faded from her lips and her face took on a more sombre impression.

“I can't talk about it,” Clara admitted eventually, followed by a heavy sigh. She attempted to turn her back on him, hiding her face, but John held her back, wrapping his arms so tightly around her that she was forced to look at him no matter how hard she was trying to avoid his gaze.

He knew exactly what it was about. He had been where Clara was now and he thought that he could help her if only she let him.

“Because talking about it makes it real,” he added, his voice soft and kind. “And you don't want it to be. Because you're not ready.”

Clara bit down on her lip, but it was obvious that he had hit the bull's eye of her feelings.

“I want it,” she replied carefully, “and I don't.”

John couldn't help himself. He chuckled softly. “Trust me, I know,” he told her earnestly. “I was the same after River. I know what it feels like to try to move on and yet still want to cling to the person you loved. It's frustrating and scary and you wish you could either turn back time or jump forward to the point where it's going to be okay.”

“It's not just that-”

John didn't hear her out, he just reached for her hand and lifted it to place a soft kiss on her knuckles. It solicited a smile from her that lit up his heart. All of a sudden, John felt so confident that it was going to be okay because he had been in her shoes before. It had worked out for him eventually. “Whatever it is, I understand,” he said and he meant it. “I know it takes time and I don't mind.”

A few small lines appeared on her forehead as she frowned.

“I don't mind waiting until you're ready,” John promised her. There was so much more that he wanted to say, so much he wanted to confess. He had fallen in love so deeply and so madly and he wanted to tell her that, but the words just wouldn't come. John had never been the type to openly talk about his feelings and maybe he should make an exception and tell her right here and now, but something stopped him like it always did. It occurred to him that maybe that was why it had never worked out between him and the women he loved, but John vowed that this time, it would be different. With Clara, he could make it work. He just had to try.

“Are you saying-”

Again, John didn't wait for her to finish and he didn't say anything either because he knew that whatever words were going to come out of his mouth, they could never fully express what he was feeling, so he just leaned forward and pressed a long, soft kiss to her mouth. When their lips parted, John couldn't help but notice the look of gratitude on Clara's face.

“This thing between us, there's no hurry,” he told her. “What matters most is that we figure out everything else. We'll put Ciaran O'Neill behind bars, we'll make sure that he can no longer hurt you. Anything else can wait until after. We have all the time in the world.”

In return, Clara smiled at him, but it was one of her sad smiles that he had yet to fully understand. “Thank you,” she whispered gently.

For a moment, John didn't pay attention and he loosened his embrace. Clara turned around in bed and he was afraid that she would get up and leave. He was aware that he had just promised her to wait until she was ready to move on from Danny, whenever that might be, but he had hoped to hold her for just one night before she slipped from his grasp again. Yet to his surprise, Clara didn't get up. Instead, she just moved to find a more comfortable position as she nestled her body against his. Maybe she wanted to be in his company tonight just as much as he wanted to be in hers, so John, in a surge of bravery, closed his arm around her from behind and rested his head next to hers. Clara didn't protest.

“Goodnight,” he said softly, whispering into her ear.

“Goodnight.”

John didn't mind the wait as long as, at the end of it, he could hold her like that every single night.


	51. Chapter 51

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John knows Clara is hiding something, Clara has developed feelings for John... sooner or later, something is bound to happen. Thank you guys so much for reading and writing your comments! We're closing in on the end now with only 10 chapters remaining :)

“Shit!” John cursed loudly and almost spat the hot beverage back out before he resisted the impulse to do so and swallowed the coffee that went on to burn his throat along with his tongue. It was the third time he had accidentally hurt himself today and it wasn't even noon yet. First, his hand had got caught in the door, then, he had dropped a paperweight on his foot. At this rate, he was going to injure himself severely before the day was over.

Angry at the hot coffee and himself, he set the mug back on the table, but not without noticing the look that Kate threw in his direction. John thought that she looked as if she was about to say something.

“Are you going to tell me why you're in such a foul mood or is it something you don't want to talk about?” his boss enquired after a couple of minutes. She dropped her eyes to the photographs in front of her – the evidence they had collected in Ciaran O'Neill's room – to give him the privacy to answer.

“I don't know what you mean,” John growled in reply. “We still haven't finished sorting through all the photos and I'm beginning to lose hope that there's anything useful in there at all.”

It was a lie. A big, blatant lie. The truth was that every time he looked at one of O'Neill's photos, he saw Clara and his mind went back to everything that had happened last night. The longer he thought about it, the stranger it seemed to him and it wasn't helping that this morning, Clara had been acting as if the previous night hadn't happened at all. If she wasn't ready to start something new, why had she slept with him in the first place? Why had she given him hope only to take it away from him? Maybe she was torn about the matter, maybe she was feeling all the things he had felt after River regardless of his promises and reassurances and maybe, once her head was clearer, she would decide whether she wanted to be with him or not. Or maybe it was something else entirely.

There was something he was deliberately trying not to think about and it was what had happened immediately before they slept together. It was the fact that he had almost looked inside the box Clara had given him. What if the sex had been nothing but a distraction to keep him away from whatever was hidden in that strange box inside his safe? No, John didn't want to believe that to be true.

“See, I'm thinking this is about Clara,” Kate said, tearing him out of his thoughts. “She told me you have something going on.”

John's head shot up in an instant and he stared at her in disbelief. Clara had admitted that? To his boss?

“Well, she didn't say it like that,” Kate went on to explain, “but she didn't deny it either. The way it sounded, you were having Schrödinger’s relationship.”

His face contorted into a frown as he considered her odd choice of words and all of a sudden, Kate rolled her eyes as if he was extremely slow on the uptake.

“Like you're in a relationship but also not in a relationship,” his boss elaborated.

John had to admit that it was quite a fitting description. “Sounds about right,” he mumbled in reply and lowered his head to look at the photos once again. More pictures of Bonnie in London and no clue as to why O'Neill had taken them other than it seemed like something he generally did a lot.

“If you want my advice-”

“I don't,” John growled, not even bothering to look at Kate. His boss had no idea what was going on between them – what good could her advice possible be?

Kate ignored his protests and went on anyway. “It's been fairly obvious from the beginning that you fancy each other. Don't ask me why, but it was hard to miss that fact.”

He almost scoffed. This was his boss, who had warned him on several occasions not to fraternise with a suspect, yet now she was trying to help him?

“I don't know what's holding either of you back, but a nice gesture from you certainly wouldn't hurt,” his old friend remarked. “God knows my ex-husband was negligent in that department.”

John wished that he could tell her about everything he had discovered and he wasn't entirely sure why he was holding back from doing so. The photograph of Bonnie in front of Clara's house, the strange box Clara was hiding – something about it just reeked of hidden secrets. Was he ignoring them on purpose because he liked her? Was he scared to investigate or ask Clara about them because there was a chance he might discover something he wouldn't like? Or did he know for sure that it had nothing to do with the case? John couldn't say, so he decided to focus on Kate instead.

“What? You're telling me to get her flowers or something like that?” he wanted to know, the tone of his voice dismissive.

Kate, however, shrugged. “Flowers never hurt anybody.”

* * *

The staff meeting was dreadfully dull and even though Clara tried to focus on whatever the headteacher was telling them about students skipping lessons and how to deal with it, her mind kept wandering off. Back in London, that would have been a real issue, but most of her students here were actually good and too well-behaved to even think about bunking off school. Maybe it was the lack of bad influences up here in the middle of nowhere, but the fact was, the headteacher was wasting their time.

So instead of listening to any more, Clara's mind wandered back to a more pressing matter and that was John and all of her secrets. If she had had doubts before, she now knew that his feelings for her were honest and she didn't believe for a second that he wouldn't keep his promise and wait until she was ready to move on – whenever that would be. She wanted to, she really did, but somehow, Danny was still present in her mind and he would stay there until his murderer was locked up in prison. There just wasn't any room for anything else in her head. But John had found a way into her heart, disregarding all of her vows, against all the odds and Clara just couldn't let him go because he was the first glimmer of hope she had had since that dreadful day she had received the news about Danny's death. After last night, Clara hadn't been able to make up her mind. If anything, she felt even more torn because the shadows of her secrets were still looming over her along with the question of what would happen if John ever found out about them. Maybe telling him was the only way to get rid of the uncertainty – but that meant abandoning her promise and risking that John may never trust her again.

Clara didn't even notice when the headteacher finished his speech and it was only when the other teachers started to get up that she awoke from her trance and she decided to do the same. The crowd of her colleagues was pushing her towards the exit where John would already be waiting for her, without a doubt. What was she going to say to him? How would she act around him now when she still hadn't made up her mind? Clara knew that it was pointless to brood over it because every time she was with John, things were different. He had that effect on her – a way of making her want to stay. It was only when she was on her own and left to her own thoughts that the doubts returned.

The same doubts lifted when she left the building and spotted him standing next to his car with a shy smile and bouquet of flowers in his hands.

“What are those for?” she asked John once she had reached him, unable to stop the grin that spread across her face or the way her heart suddenly beat a little faster. Yes, he definitely had that effect on her and Clara had to admit that she liked it.

John shrugged. “Your staff meeting took too long and I got bored,” he said casually, nodding towards the flower shop across the road. “Started browsing in the shop over there and it seemed rude to leave without buying something.”

It was a lie and not a very convincing one, so Clara decided to still be flattered. John was good with words, but not quite as good at expressing his feelings with them. The flowers were a sweet gesture and she appreciated them very much, so much that she actually started to blush a little when he handed them to her.

“They're very pretty,” she remarked and looked up, smiling at him. “Thank you.”

Just as she had predicted, the doubts had evaporated and Clara pushed herself up on tiptoes and – out here, in the middle of the street where everyone could see – kissed him.


	52. Chapter 52

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the comments, guys :D Now, take a deep breath and sit back becaaaaaaause...

“I could cook dinner,” John suggested hopefully and a second later, he regretted it. The last thing he wanted was to sound too eager. This day had started out in the worst way possible and his boss had only marginally improved it with her suggestion to lighten Clara's mood with a romantic gesture. However, the flowers had worked and the public kiss had blown away his reservations. He was deliberately turning a blind eye to everything he didn't want to see, but the view was so much nicer with his eyes closed.

Clara arched her eyebrows at him as they made their way towards the front door, both of them carrying bags filled with enough groceries to last for a week. “You're being exceptionally nice today,” she remarked, her voice a touch wary.

John merely shrugged, racking his brain for a good excuse that didn't give off the impression he was desperate. “I mean, you're a guest at my house for the time being. So far, you've helped with all the cooking and the dishes and-”

He broke off when he heard a rustling in the bushes and came to a halt immediately. Clara cursed behind him as she walked straight into his back.

“Hey, what-”

“Shhh!” John hushed her instantly. Something was wrong. He could feel it in his bones and in the prickling on the back of his neck. Just like a bad smell, rotten and decaying, it hung in the air. In the pit of his stomach, he knew that something had happened and it didn't help that the rustling continued and grew louder until something large and heavy pounced on them from out of the hedge.

John uttered a loud groan when the wagging tail and the panting betrayed his useless pet. “Odin,” he said harshly, “how on earth did you get out of the house?”

Clara chuckled next to him and bent down to pet the agitated dog. “Hey buddy,” she greeted him. “Did you open the door and escape? Clever dog. Too clever.”

John hadn't noticed it until Clara pointed it out, but now, his gaze didn’t leave the door that was ajar and the hint of light that shone out into the darkness. Odin had never opened the door before and in the back of his mind, he remembered something he had read about the breed when he had decided to keep him. _A Labrador is not a guard dog. In fact, they'll be happy about a visitor and help an intruder carry the valuables._ It had made him laugh back then, but right now, John didn't feel like laughing. He could feel it even out here; a presence inside his home that shouldn't be there.

“Wait here with Odin,” John instructed as he put the shopping bag down.

“Why?” Clara enquired a little more loudly than he would have liked and in response, he placed his index finger on his lips.

“I just want to see that everything's okay,” he lied. He already knew that it wasn't.

For a moment, John feared that Clara might not listen to him, but she didn't follow him as he carefully made his way towards the open door. Not for a second did John believe that Odin had opened it. If his pet was capable of that, he would have done it a long time ago or at least displayed a certain affinity to want to try it. The only other options were either friendly visitors or visitors with less friendly intentions. John dearly hoped it would prove to be the first.

As he stepped into the house, John started to pray that it was Kate or another colleague or maybe even his old friend Missy who had broken into his home because anything was better than assuming the very worst, but the very worst was what he found in the living room.

“I need your professional opinion,” Ciaran O'Neill said matter-of-factly as he twirled the gun around his index finger. The man was sitting on John's sofa as if he belonged there, but he tried his best to focus on the positive aspects of this visit. O'Neill, a dangerous man, a criminal, had broken into his home and left his dog unharmed. That had to mean he wasn't killing for fun and he and Clara had a good chance of getting out of here alive, but John knew that he was grasping at straws. “If a person has something that belongs to you but refuses to hand it over, that's theft, isn't it?”

John swallowed hard. There was something that O'Neill thought Clara had, but she had sworn that it wasn't the case. He didn't know who to believe because both of them seemed absolutely determined. “And following people and taking photos of them without their knowledge is stalking,” he remarked, hoping that the defiance was showing in his voice.

In a matter of seconds, the gun was pointed at him and as O'Neill cocked the weapon with incredible ease, something suddenly occurred to John. He knew that it was a strange moment to make the connection – while he was being threatened – but he was a detective and he couldn't help himself. If O'Neill owned a gun, then why hadn't Bonnie died of a gunshot wound? Why had she fallen or been beaten to death, whichever it was? He didn't have time to voice his question aloud when O'Neill raised the weapon, his finger dangerously close to the trigger.

“Clara has something that belongs to me,” he said and he sounded too calm for John's liking. The man in front of him was prepared to do anything to get what he wanted and the fact that he wasn't nervous as he threatened John's life only made it worse. There was no way he could talk him out of it or convince him that he wouldn't find what he was looking for. “I don't want to kill you, but I will unless Clara hands it over. Once I have it, I'll gladly leave you alone.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” John said, imitating the tone of O'Neill's voice to show that he wasn't scared when in fact, he was. At least a little. For Clara more than for himself.

O'Neill started to chuckled. “I'm not surprised, DI Smith. Those sisters, they're incredible liars,” he stated as if the fact amused him. “Bonnie fooled us all for months.”

John merely shrugged. He had no idea what to say to O'Neill, he had no idea what to do. He didn't doubt for a second that O'Neill would shoot him without a second thought, and it wouldn't be his first time taking a bullet either, but he hoped that Clara had the sense to take his car and drive off to call the police as soon as she realised what was going on. John was beginning to feel nervous.

“Tell Clara to come inside,” Ciaran O'Neill told him, still pointing the gun in his direction. He wasn't holding it particularly steady, so chances were good that he would miss. But was John willing to take that risk? “Or you will receive more than a whack across the head like your colleague.”

“She's not here,” he replied. “You’ll have to make do with me.”

The man jumped to his feet faster than John could react and he instinctively took a step back, his heart suddenly hammering in his chest. He had entered this house, thinking about having a lovely meal with Clara and now, John couldn't see a way of getting out of here uninjured.

“You should've learned something from Clara Oswald because I can smell a lie on you from miles away,” O'Neill hissed. “I heard her voice. She’s right outside, so call her or I will shoot.”

“There's no need.”

John's head shot up when he heard the sound of her voice and sure enough, Clara was standing in the doorway, looking defeated and smaller than ever. Had she always been so short or was it the effect of Ciaran O'Neill and his gun?

In a swift movement, O'Neill reached out and John didn't even have a chance to fight back as the man grabbed his arm and twisted it up behind his back, a surge of pain running through his muscles as O’Neill held the gun to his head. Now he was sure that the bullet wouldn't miss and it should have frightened him, but all John felt was gratitude that the gun was aimed at him and not Clara. But what would happen if she couldn't give O'Neill what he was asking for? What if she didn't have it, whatever it was? What if she refused to give in because whatever she was hiding meant more to her than his life? John had no idea what would happen next because it all came down to the one question he hadn't wanted to think about. Was Clara hiding something from him or not? Whatever the outcome, one way or another, John would get hurt.

“This man is trying to protect you,” O'Neill spat at her, nodding in John's direction. “And you're trying to protect him. I promise I won't harm him if you give it to me.”

Clara looked even more frightened than he felt which was odd, given the circumstances. Her eyes were so large, so full of fear and he could that she was torn. That was all the information he needed to know that she had lied to him. She had what O'Neill was looking for and she had kept it a secret from him. Right now, John was willing to place a very high bet on matters and say that whatever she was hiding, it was inside the metal box which he was keeping in his safe. The story about her papers, all of that had been a lie and he had bought it without a second thought. What else had she lied about? Bonnie? Her involvement in this case? John couldn't say, but looking her in the eyes right now hurt him more than the weapon that was pressing into his temple. John closed his eyes and hoped that Clara, despite her lies and secrets, had enough decency left to save his life. The last thing he wanted was to die without knowing the truth.

“I have it,” Clara said, her voice small and frail. “John has it in his safe.”

His assumption had been correct.

“All of it?” Ciaran O'Neill wanted to know.

John opened his eyes just in time to see Clara nod. She had started to cry and the tears were silently running down her cheeks.

“Everything Bonnie gave me,” she replied, obviously struggling to force the truth out of her mouth even now. _Everything Bonnie gave me._ John's world collapsed around him in that instant. Everything he had believed was a lie and he had seen the signs and ignored them because he had wanted to believe the lies rather than search for the truth. Clara had tricked him with her pretty face and all those sweet words coming out of her mouth. For a moment, John thought he had forgotten how to breathe as the realisation came crashing down on him. She had lied about everything from the beginning. How on earth could he have been so stupid?

O'Neill brought him back from his trance as he pushed John towards the wall. “Open the safe!” he commanded, gesturing menacingly with the gun.

John didn't hesitate for a second before he led O'Neill towards the hidden safe inside his cupboard. He didn't care about Clara or her secrets, he didn't care about whatever she was hiding from him because she had lied and deceived him and right now, he just wanted to get O'Neill to stop pointing that goddamn gun at him. He unlocked the door and entered the pin until the safe beeped and swung open.

His heart sank into his boots when John looked inside and realised that it was empty. He was as good as dead.


	53. Chapter 53

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments and screams, guys :D

“ _Where is it?!_ ” O'Neill shouted and only then, as he pressed the gun harder against John's temple, did Clara remember what had happened the evening before.

That night, that wonderful night she had spent with John and the moments before that when he had taken the box out of the safe to read the contents… until she had convinced him otherwise. She tried to suppress her thoughts about John, her memories of that evening, because she knew that it was over. Clara had seen the anger in his eyes when she had admitted it all, when she had confessed to having known Bonnie, when she had confessed to having lied to him. He was never going to forgive her for that. And for what? Only to have her last hope at revenge fall into O'Neill's hands. Clara wanted to sink down to the floor and cry. Sure enough, the tears were flowing down her cheeks and she couldn't stop them because everything was falling to pieces. Bonnie's dream, her revenge, the plan they had made together – it had all been for nothing.

“It's here,” Clara replied and she was shocked by how broken her voice really sounded. She hadn't expected the words to come out like that. To show O'Neill that she meant to cooperate, she reached behind the sofa cushion and drew out the box. It had been there since last night because neither she nor John had bothered to put it back. It just hadn't mattered to either of them.

To her surprise, Ciaran O'Neill burst into laughter. “You're telling me I've been sitting on that the whole time?” he asked, obviously amused by the turn of events. Clara wished he had just noticed and taken it because John would have never known the truth, but it was too late for regrets. She should have told him the truth from the beginning and she should have trusted him to do the right thing. It was her own craving for revenge that had ruined everything.

Wordlessly, she stepped forward and handed over the box. Once O'Neill's hand had a tight grip on it, he pushed John away and he stumbled straight into her arms where Clara caught him.

“Are you okay?” she asked him, her voice almost a whisper. The barrel of the gun had left an imprint on his skin.

John nodded but quickly averted his eyes to stare at O'Neill who was making his way towards the door. He had lowered his gun now and he even seemed a little relieved – a strange look on the face of the man who had killed Danny. “I'm a man of my word,” he promised. “If this box contains everything, you'll never see me again.”

Odin walked through the door and O'Neill's eyes shifted towards the dog. He smiled. “You have a lousy guard dog, DI Smith,” he chuckled and before either John or Clara could say anything else, O'Neill left.

A silence settled over the house when the front door closed and Odin plopped down in his usual spot. Clara didn't know what to say, because the shock still gripped her to the core. Slowly but surely the gravity of the situation was beginning to dawn on her and everything she had lost was becoming apparent. Her promise, her revenge… John. If she could turn back time, she would just tell John the truth right from the start. It was at that moment that Clara realised she could live with a promise she hadn't been able to keep, she could live with Danny's killer not receiving his just punishment, but she didn't want to live without John. That was the loss that hurt the most and right now, she had to cling to the last bit of hope and try to fix it.

“I'm so sorry,” she whispered and turned her head to look at him. His kind, boyish eyes were now cold and stern. “I didn't want this to happen.”

When John didn't reply, Clara noticed for the first time that she was shaking. She hadn't been scared earlier, but she was scared now; scared of what he was going to say to her now that he knew.

“I'm sorry that I lied,” Clara added meekly, but from his face, she could tell that it didn't make a difference. John had already closed his heart to her.

“Why?” That was all he said and he spat the word at her.

Clara inhaled deeply, her chest trembling and even though the tears had stopped, she could feel them well up again. She swallowed hard and realised that there was no point in lying any longer. From now on, she was going to tell him the truth. The whole truth. “Revenge,” she said and then shrugged. “I wanted O'Neill to suffer for what he did to Danny.”

And now he never would. The tears returned and Clara began to sob. There was no stopping them, there was no way to contain her sadness, her anger, or her defeat. She sank down on the sofa and buried her face in her hands, crying until she couldn't bear it anymore. Maybe it had been building up, maybe she had been bottling things up for the past year, but suddenly, everything felt like a cage around her and all she could do to free herself was to scream.

“ _He killed Danny! He killed my boyfriend and I blame him every second of every day and I blame Bonnie because she was the reason and I want to take him down and his entire organisation with him!_ ” Clara yelled into the air, screaming until at last, her pain abated a little.

John was staring at her, completely and utterly unaware of what was going on. He had pieced it together pretty well, but he only knew one half of the story. He was about to find out the rest. Slowly, John sat down next to her, but he was careful to keep a distance between them. Right now, Clara wished that he would just touch her. Take her into his arms, hold her hand, kiss her cheek, anything but the unbearable space that he left between them. He was never going to forgive her, was he?

“I need to know what happened,” John said, his voice surprisingly calm.

Clara nodded.

“No, don't nod at me like that,” he barked. “I want the truth! The whole truth! You owe me that after everything that’s happened!”

She inhaled sharply and was on the verge of nodding again until she remembered his harsh voice. “Yes,” Clara confirmed. “You're right.”

“We don't have time for your crying or your grief. That man just broke into my home and held a gun to my head,” John said determinedly. “I need to know what he took and why, and I need to know it now.”

Even if she still had a choice, Clara would have told him anyway. There was no reason to keep lying, no reason to hold back when all was lost anyway. And John was right. She owed him that at least, so Clara opened her mouth and started from the beginning.


	54. Chapter 54

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that I've given you all a proper heart attack, let's see what REALLY happened :D Thank you guys so much for your patience up to this point!

_December 1990_

It was an early firework that made her wake with a start and Clara was torn out of her peaceful dream only to be plunged straight back into hell. Despite her heavy head and her dry throat, she cursed the overly enthusiastic New Year's celebrations, knowing that this year, she would not be part of it. The tickets were still attached to her pinboard, two tickets, and they were taunting her to the point that Clara had to jump out of bed and tear them down. With all the strength she could muster, she ripped them into pieces that landed on her dressing table like confetti. Day twenty-three and Danny was still dead. Clara was still trapped in the same never-ending nightmare. With a sigh, she plopped back down on her bed, thinking that she might start to cry, but all of her tears seemed to have dried out. Even if she had wanted to, crying wasn't possible. Clara was exhausted.

Over the last three weeks, she had started to wonder if this was what her life was going to be from now on even though she hadn't really registered the first couple of days – they had been spent in a grief- and sedative-induced haze. She felt numb even now, even though it was a numbness of a different kind, the kind that only came when the pain was becoming too much and her body had shut off the rest in a desperate attempt at self-preservation. Other than that, she simply functioned – or at least she gave off that impression to the outside world. Clara had done it so convincingly that her father and stepmother had left a couple of days ago to return to Blackpool. The only thing Clara missed about their presence was the distraction of it, and she prayed for another. A sudden knock on her front door provided her with exactly that.

Clara turned her head and frowned, wondering whether it was one of her friends or the concerned neighbour who had developed a habit of checking in on her every now and then – no doubt because her father had asked her to. She rose from her bed, draped her dressing gown around her body and went to answer the knock that now came a second time.

As Clara swung the door open, it was as if her heart had stopped for a moment and she thought she was looking into a mirror. Maybe she was still dreaming after all, maybe the sedatives had made her head soft, but when Clara looked ahead, she stared straight into her own face. There wasn't a single difference in the shade of their hair or the shape of their eyes or the small nose that she had always loved on herself. Clara gaped at the strange woman that wasn't so strange after all. She had seen her countless times every time she had looked into the mirror.

“Hello,” the other woman greeted her carefully. The voice had a familiar and yet strange ring to it. Was that was Clara sounded like to other people? The woman smiled and judging from her own smile, Clara thought it seemed genuine. “I know how weird this must seem to you, but… could I come in?”

Clara must have nodded or said yes because a few minutes later, the strange woman who had introduced herself as Bonnie Moore was sitting on her sofa and Clara was making them both tea. She hadn't bothered to change out of her nightie and dressing gown, yet Bonnie didn't seem to mind. Still, Clara wasn't entirely convinced it wasn't a dream. It wasn't until Bonnie returned her curious looks that Clara realised she had been staring at her.

“I, uh-” Clara began, but broke off when she realised she didn't know what to say, so instead, she sat down at the opposite side of the coffee table. All of a sudden, her flat seemed incredibly quiet and not even the early fireworks could be heard anymore.

“I have quite a long story to tell you,” Bonnie said, “but first, let me say how sorry I am for your loss.”

Clara felt a little taken aback and she fought off the hint of nausea that came every time someone mentioned Danny. It wasn't so much that she was afraid of throwing up, it wasn't that kind of nausea, but to be reminded of her loss felt like a punch in the stomach each time.

“How did you know?” she asked, but then, an even better question occurred to her. “Who are you?”

A hint of a smile appeared on Bonnie's face. “I'm your sister,” she said simply.

It was the craziest story Clara had ever heard. Her mother having two babies and giving one up for adoption seemed insane at first, but Bonnie's face – so exactly like her own – left her with little doubt that it was, in fact, true. Her sister had grown up in Belfast but lost her parents recently and it wasn't until three weeks ago that Bonnie had started to search for her birth family.

“I didn't think it mattered,” she explained with a shrug. “My parents were my parents. They're dead and I don't need a replacement.”

Clara blinked, still soaking up every bit of information and sipping her tea. “What changed your mind?”

At last, Bonnie's face grew serious and Clara noticed a hint of regret that was clearly on display. “A young man saved my life,” she confessed. “Because he thought I was someone else. He thought I was you.”

_Danny._

Clara's head was spinning. She only vaguely remembered her conversation with the detectives, but they had talked about Danny pushing a woman out of the way, saving her life and losing his own. They had looked, but they hadn't found a single trace of the woman in question. Now, she was sitting in Clara's living room, drinking tea and looking apologetic.

“He called me Clara when he shoved me out of the way,” Bonnie told her. Despite the gratitude in her voice and even though Clara knew that Danny would have done it for anyone, she suddenly felt angry. Danny was dead because of the woman in front of her. “I'm an investigative journalist. It took me a while, but I figured it out and I found you.”

“What for?” Clara barked and she was surprised by the harshness of her own voice. But why shouldn't she be harsh? This woman, her sister, was the reason Danny was dead. “I thought you didn't want a substitute family.”

The smile was back on Bonnie's face, but this time, it wasn't friendly. There was something cold about the way it looked. “I know who drove the car,” she said simply. “And I know the police let him go.”

“Ciaran O'Neill,” Clara replied before Bonnie could give it away. She was still in touch with the police and he was the only suspect they had interviewed so far. There was no other lead and the detective had left her with little hope of actually catching Danny's killer. But now there was Bonnie… and she seemed to think…

“He's IRA,” her sister stated as if it was the most obvious thing.

“ _What?!_

“As part of my job, I infiltrated the IRA-”

“ _You're a spy?!_ ”

“I'm a _journalist_ ,” Bonnie insisted, her voice sounding angrier than before. “My father died because they thought he was IRA and I went undercover to hurt them just as badly as they hurt my family. I have information on their members and planned attacks.”

What Bonnie was telling her sent Clara's mind racing. This morning, she had woken up with little hope but now, by answering the door to a stranger, she had also opened a box of possibilities. “You have to give it to the police,” Clara said determinedly. “If it helps them bring Danny's killer to justice, you have to give it to them!”

“I will,” her sister confirmed with a nod. “But I need more. There are some informants I have yet to talk to and I might need your help.”

Clara frowned at her in response, not really knowing what she was on about.

“Ciaran O'Neill knows who I am and they sent him to kill me,” Bonnie explained. For a woman in mortal danger, she sounded surprisingly calm. “If they do, they'll do it quietly so my secrets will die with me. They can't arouse suspicion in case the police dig a little too deeply and find out I've been investigating them, in case I still have information hidden away.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Clara wanted to know. She didn't understand it.

Instead of answering, Bonnie reached for her backpack, opened the zip and pulled out a small metal strongbox. “I need you to keep hold of this for me in case something happens. This box contains everything I have on the IRA. Names. Dates. Their plans. This could be my breakthrough as a journalist.”

“That box could put O'Neill in prison!” Clara argued loudly, wondering why Bonnie was still sitting on it instead of going to the police.

“It will,” she promised her, her voice frantic. “But I just need a little more information and I need more time to write my piece and I would feel so much safer knowing that I have a backup plan. I know you want to put O'Neill behind bars and trust me, I want the exact same thing!”

“Then why don't you?!”

Bonnie stopped and Clara watched her swallow as her sister considered her answer. “Do you want to just put Danny's killer in prison or do you want him to be in the company of the people who told him to do it?”

Clara paused. She wasn't quite sure what she wanted, but she wanted it now. O'Neill had to pay for the pain he had caused her.

“Ciaran O'Neill is a tiny cog in a big machine,” Bonnie stated. “We can't destroy it and taking out O'Neill would achieve nothing in the grand scheme of things. But with a little more time, we can cripple it.”

“When has this become a _we_?” Clara demanded angrily. She couldn't remember agreeing to Bonnie's ludicrous plan.

Her sister smiled that cold, vicious smile. “You want revenge for your boyfriend,” Bonnie remarked. “The police won't help, but I will. I'm your only chance.”

As much as Clara would have loved to disagree – and she really would have because her sister was beginning to scare her – she had to admit that Bonnie was right. She was her only chance of bringing Danny's killer to justice. All Clara had to do was to wait a little longer. Then, she would not only have justice but revenge.


	55. Chapter 55

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the sweet comments, guys and special thanks to those who only recently discovered and binge-read the fic :)

_January 1992_

Clara closed the front door in a hurry, but it was too late to save her doormat. Her sister had already brought the rain and the storm inside with her and Clara realised what an apt comparison it was to her own life. Bonnie had stepped into her life, bringing with her a sense of turmoil that Clara hadn't felt before. And yet she had also brought a promise of something Clara craved above all – revenge. It seemed like a fair price to pay.

“It's nasty outside,” Bonnie complained loudly as she shrugged off her coat and placed it on the hanger next to the door. It was drenched and soon began to drip all over the floor. “I swear, I thought the ferry was going to capsize.”

Not knowing what to reply, Clara merely gestured for Bonnie to come inside. If she was completely honest, she was still getting used to the idea of having a sister after spending over thirty years of her life as an only child and the thought that Bonnie had suddenly turned up uninvited still didn’t quite feel real to her. Then again, their arrangement wasn't exactly about establishing a sisterly bond and Clara doubted that it was what Bonnie had in mind even after O'Neill was caught. Right now, their relationship was mutually beneficial. Bonnie needed Clara's help and Clara needed the information Bonnie had gathered to put her boyfriend's murderer behind bars. Would they stay in contact after they no longer needed each other? Clara honestly couldn't say and she didn't want to think about it right now.

While Bonnie settled down on the sofa, Clara went into the kitchen to prepare her a cup of tea and her thoughts circled around her own situation and how her life had changed since she had last seen her sister. Seemingly on a whim, Clara had packed her bags and moved to a remote house on a Scottish island and even though it was far away from her old life and everything that connected her to Danny, the loss had followed her here – as had the urge to bring his killer to justice. Maybe after he was finally caught, she could move on with the knowledge that the monster would pay for taking her fiancé away from her.

As she walked back into the living room a couple of minutes later, Clara was greeted by the strange sight of her twin smiling at her as she put the tea down. “Thank you,” her sister said earnestly. “I really appreciate your help. Oh, and for this, of course.”

Bonnie reached into her bag and a few moments later, she handed Clara her passport. They had stayed in touch after their first meeting, but they hadn't actually spoken except for two very short phone calls. In the first, Clara had informed her sister that she was about to move to Scotland and left Bonnie her address and phone number in case she needed to contact her. The second call had come two weeks ago and it was then that Clara had known she would soon have what she wanted most in the world. Bonnie had told her that she had everything she needed and she had asked for a place to stay because Ciaran O'Neill was on her tail. The passport had been Clara's idea. So as not to lead O'Neill straight to Scotland, Bonnie was to travel under Clara's name and for now, it seemed as though her plan had worked. Her sister had arrived and she seemed at ease, not at all like a woman who was being followed.

“They weren't suspicious, were they?” Clara wanted to know.

Bonnie shrugged. “Why would they be? We look identical.”

That was another thing Clara would probably have to get used to. She still felt as if she was sitting in front of a broken mirror that didn’t quite reflect her perfectly. Maybe they should take some time to get to know each other after everything was over. Maybe she would like having a sister once she got to know Bonnie better. But for now, Clara found it hard to focus on anything but getting the job done.

“So, um,” she hesitated when Bonnie suddenly reached for her mug and started sipping her tea. Clara waited patiently for her sister to finish because she wanted her full attention and she wanted Bonnie to look at her when she asked the most pressing question. “When are you going to go public with it?”

To her surprise, her sister scoffed. “That's a really good question,” she replied. “I wish I had an answer for you.”

Clara frowned at her in response and suddenly, she felt a little stupid. Wasn't that why Bonnie had come here? Because the last phase of their plan had begun? So they could finally reveal the evidence that linked O'Neill to Danny's death? “But you said-”

“I said I had finished my research. I've written my piece, but my editor will have to approve it before it goes public.”

“But you can give it to the police,” Clara argued instantly.

“I can't!” Bonnie almost yelled back at her. “As soon as the police have it, it might as well be public knowledge! I can kiss my career goodbye!”

“But-”

“I've worked hard on this, Clara,” her sister said, the expression on her face as cold as the tone of her voice. “I put myself in an extremely dangerous situation to do this and I'm not going to give up right before the finish line!”

Clara let her shoulders sink. She had hoped for this nightmare to be over sooner rather than later and even though she knew that it would only be a few more weeks, she suddenly felt more impatient than ever. It was frustrating to almost be able to reach out and touch something only to have it taken away again.

“You promised me,” Bonnie reminded her. “You promised me you'd help me and in return, I'll make sure the guy who killed your boyfriend will spend the rest of his life behind bars. That's a fair deal, isn't it?”

Clara exhaled sharply, unable to deny that Bonnie was right. She had made a promise and she would keep it, no matter how hard it was. Every day for the past year, Clara had looked at the box Bonnie had given her, the box that contained everything she needed to take her revenge. To her, it was a way of getting back at the person who had hurt her, but to Bonnie, it was her lifeline. Clara hadn't really realised it when her sister had left the box at her flat over a year ago, but eventually, she had come to understand that it was more than just a backup plan. If anything happened to Bonnie, the contents of that box might just save her life and it was that thought that had kept Clara from just handing it over to the police.

“It's a fair deal,” Clara agreed eventually. She could do it. She could wait for just a little longer. “When do you think you'll be able to give it to your editor?”

“He should get back in a week,” Bonnie reassured her. Then, a slightly wicked smile spread across her face. Right now, she was probably thinking about what it meant for her career. “After that, it'll be a matter of days. And I mean it, by the way. Thanks for letting me stay here until all of this is over.”

Not knowing what else to, Clara simply nodded. It was the price she had to pay. It was a fair deal.


	56. Chapter 56

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for the comments!!! But we still don't know what really happened to Bonnie, do we?

_January 1992, a week later_

“I'm telling you that I saw him!” Bonnie said, her voice agitated as she paced the floor in front of the sofa. Clara didn't think her sister had stopped since she had returned from school and she was watching Bonnie intently, trying to make sense of what was going on.

“Seen who?” Clara wanted to know.

“O'Neill!” her sister yelled at her. Her breathing was ragged and looking at her sister, Clara thought she looked like a nervous wreck. The calm, composed woman she had met before had vanished and been replaced by someone who feared for her life.

That, in turn, made Clara feel on edge. “When?”

Bonnie inhaled deeply, trying her best to stay calm despite obviously failing in her attempt. “This morning,” she said. “I went out to get some fresh air and I saw him. He followed me here!”

“Are you completely sure it's him?” Clara enquired cautiously. Maybe it was all just in her sister's mind and then they'd be panicking over nothing. However, if it actually _was_ O'Neill, then they would both be in trouble. “I mean, Brian Williams often takes his morning walks around here.”

“It wasn't Brian Williams!” Bonnie spat back at her and finally came to a halt right in front of the spot where Clara was sat. “I spent over a year infiltrating the IRA and I know O'Neill! It was him!”

Still, Clara didn't quite believe it. She didn't _want_ to believe it. If Bonnie was in danger from this man, then so was she. There had to be an explanation for what Bonnie had seen.

“How could he possibly find you here?” Clara asked and she realised that the despair was audible in her voice as was the need to deny the obvious. “You came here using my passport. You have no connection to the island. Why would O'Neill look for you here?”

“Maybe he figured out the connection!” her sister argued frantically. “Maybe he figured out that you're my sister and he followed me here!”

“You've only been here a week-”

“Why does it matter how long I've been here for?!” Bonnie had raised her voice so much that she was shouting now. If she hadn't believed that her sister was afraid for her life until then, Clara certainly believed it now. It was real. “We have to do something! We have to leave!”

The solution came to her in an instant, but it wasn't the one Bonnie had suggested and Clara wasn't quite sure how her twin would react. Slowly, she rose from her seat and racked her brain for the best way to phrase her suggestion.

“We need to go to the police,” Clara said, not knowing how else to express it. It was their only option now that O'Neill had found them. Bonnie's editor still couldn't be reached and Clara wasn't willing to risk her life for the contents of Bonnie's box. It was the only way. “We need to give them the box and tell them what you know. They'll protect you.”

Bonnie shook her head. “Out of the question!” she said harshly. “That box is my life's work and I'm not going to give it up now when I'm this close.”

For emphasis, Bonnie raised her hand, holding thumb and index finger only millimetres apart.

“Ciaran O'Neill is going to kill you if he finds you!” Clara argued. “And he's going to kill me too. You know I want my revenge, but I'm not prepared to _die_ for it! Are you?”

Her sister only glared at her.

“Are you actually willing to die to protect your career?!”

“There has to be a better way!” Bonnie replied and then started pacing again. Clara knew that it was no use talking to her now because in her current state of mind, her sister would never see sense. Once she had calmed down, she would understand, she would know that the police were their best bet and she would agree with her, but right now, it was up to Clara to make the reasonable decision.

“Fine,” she spat. “If you're not going to do it, then I will.”

Bonnie stopped and glowered at her. “You wouldn't dare!”

“Oh, I would,” Clara snapped. “You’ve made me your accomplice in this and I'm not going to sit here and wait for O'Neill to come and murder us both! I'm going to the police!”

“You're a selfish bitch, Clara, do you know that?!”

For a moment, Clara was too shocked by her sister's choice of words to yell anything equally insulting back at her and by the time she had come up with a decent comeback, her sister was already continuing: “You don't care about me or how hard I worked to put all of this together! You only care about putting O'Neill in prison!”

“That's not true!” Clara lied even though technically it was. Bonnie was just the necessary evil she put up with to get what she wanted.

“It is and you know it!” Bonnie spat. She reached out and pushed Clara's shoulder, shoving her just a little. “I should never have trusted you!”

Before Clara could reply or do anything else, Bonnie turned around on her heels and headed towards the door. There was no time to ask what she was planning before Bonnie opened the door and darted outside into the storm.

“Bonnie!” Clara yelled after her. “Bonnie, come back!”

Her sister didn't listen and Clara had half a mind to just leave her out there in the rain until she had calmed down. It was dark and rainy and the elements would soon change her mind and force her to come back inside. And yet… her guilty conscience won her over. Both of them had their reasons for acting the way they did. Clara cared more about her revenge than her sister and that wasn't how it should be, so as soon as this was over, she vowed to make an honest effort with Bonnie even if would lead nowhere. Her sister had risked her life to get where she was now and she was protecting her life's work. If Clara was in her place, she would most likely do the exact same thing, so she reached for her jacket and decided to follow Bonnie. There had to be another option; one that didn't involve either of them dying or giving up on what they wanted most.

Clara pulled the hood up and wrapped her coat tightly around her body to keep the rain from running down her neck as it was whipped into her face by the rough gale. Would she have moved to Scotland if she had known what the weather would be like? Clara couldn't say and it didn't matter now because she was here. All that mattered was that Bonnie was nowhere to be seen.

“Bonnie?!” Clara called out and she could hear the storm carry her voice away. There was no way her sister would be able to hear her over the sound of the wind and the waves crashing against the nearby shore. “Bonnie, where are you?!”

Clara tried again and again, attempting to scream louder each time, but she soon felt her voice fail her. The whole endeavour was utterly pointless. The most reasonable thing would be to walk back to the house, dry herself off and wait for Bonnie to find her way back. The lights from the windows would guide her, Clara knew that much.

Just as she was about to give up, Clara finally spotted her. She had to squint her eyes to make out the vague shape of her sister in the darkness, but Bonnie was right ahead of her, her silhouette growing smaller as she headed towards the coast.

“Bonnie!” Clara tried it one more time, but her sister either didn't hear her or she was deliberately ignoring her shouts. Where was she even headed? Clara couldn't figure it out and she doubted that Bonnie knew because she was heading straight towards the cliffs. Clara only knew because she had walked this patch of land almost every single day ever since she had arrived and she knew the route from her house to the cliffs better than the inside of her pockets. But did Bonnie know? The night was pitch black and the rain was impeding her sight even more.

It dawned on her a little too late that Bonnie was worried more about the dangers that were following her than the ones that lay straight ahead. She didn't see it. She didn't know. Clara's heart jumped in her chest and she broke out into a run.

“Bonnie!” she called out in a last desperate attempt to reach her sister in time. Bonnie must have almost reached the edge. “Bonnie! The cliffs!”

The air stung in her lungs from the unexpected exercise as she ran, trying her best to catch up with her sister and she didn't have enough breath left in her to yell any more. All she could hope was that Bonnie would stop on her own. While she was running, Clara kept her eyes firmly on the figure in front of her, but Bonnie didn't stop and the silhouette didn't grow any nearer. Bonnie was heading further and further away from her. She had to see it. She would see the precipice once it was right in front of her.

“Bonnie!” Clara shouted at the top of her lungs and then came to an abrupt halt as the figured vanished from view in the blink of an eye. She heard a scream and then there was only the sound of the storm howling in her ears, Clara's body growing rigid as though she were frozen to the spot.

In her mind, Clara went through every possible scenario that could have happened, but it was nothing more than her brain's way of coping with the shock of watching her own sister fall to her death. Her mind wouldn't accept what she had seen with her own two eyes and Clara would have stood there for hours, praying for a miracle, hoping for her sister to emerge from the depths if it hadn't been for the second silhouette that she hadn't noticed before.

A man was standing in the rain, watching her from a distance and even though there was no way to see his face in the darkness, Clara's instinct told her that it couldn't be anyone but Ciaran O'Neill. And Bonnie had seen him long before Clara had.


	57. Chapter 57

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you lovely readers for the amazing comments!!! But now that John knows the truth at last, what is he going to say?

Clara waited patiently once she had finished her story, she waited for John to say something, but he only glared at her in response. He had listened intently as she had told John about everything that had really happened and now that she was finished, Clara realised to her dismay that the weight hadn't lifted from her shoulders. All this time, Clara had hoped that as soon as she told the truth she would feel better, she would feel less guilty, but the opposite seemed to be the case. The guilt had merely shifted. She still felt dreadful about having lied to John for such a long time and she could feel her heart sink when the expression on his face failed to soften.

Clara swallowed hard before she spoke again. “John?” she asked carefully. “Please say something.”

He hesitated for a long moment and Clara assumed he would never say another word to her ever again, and she knew that she deserved just that.

“Why?” he wanted to know, his voice rough and cold. The usual affection was no longer there. “Why didn't you tell me from the beginning?”

She had wanted to tell him. Now, she wanted to tell him that she had trusted him with the box and that a part of her had wanted him to look inside.. and yet she also hadn't wanted him to look. John needed to know how torn she had felt ever since the morning he had kicked her door in. Her promise to Bonnie, her own motives and her love for John. All of that had been fighting for dominance inside of her.

“I want O'Neill to pay for everything he has done,” Clara explained, raising her voice just a little. “I wanted you to blame O'Neill for Bonnie's death as well as Danny's. He didn't lay a hand on her, but he drove her to her death and I want to punish him for that. In my eyes, he is the one to blame and I wanted you to come to the same conclusion.”

To her surprise, John nodded slowly as if he understood – even if he couldn't forgive her. Then he jumped up unexpectedly and darted across the room. For a while, Clara thought he had gone mad because he began stomping on the tiles and she rose to her feet and followed him.

“What's going on?” she wanted to know. “What are you doing?”

John didn't reply even when Clara tried to reach out and touch his shoulder. Instead, he shrugged off her hand and kept tapping on the floor with his foot until one of the tiles sounded a little more hollow than the others. That was where John bent down and removed a part of the floor to reveal the muzzle of an old hunting rifle that was buried vertically beneath the parquet. John lifted it out, excavating the rifle from its hiding place and held it up in front of him. The sight was a strange one and Clara realised that she had never actually seen him handle a firearm before, even though all of his colleagues carried weapons. The way he held it, his face a mixture of rage and disgust, told her that he hated the sight as much as she did.

“What are you going to do?” Clara asked, only now realising how scared she sounded. She wasn't scared of John, but of what he was going to do with the rifle.

“I'm going to end this once and for all,” he growled and Clara didn't even have time to open her mouth and respond as he rushed past her and out of the house.

He didn't leave her a choice, so Clara followed after him and as soon as she left the protection of his house, she felt a sense of déjà vu coming on. It was dark and the storm blew the rain into her face. Why was it always raining whenever something sinister happened? And something sinister was about to happen, Clara could feel it in her bones; she had seen it in John's eyes and the knowledge of that made her blood run cold.

Yet to her surprise, he didn't dart off into the night but opened the door of his car and there was no way she would let him go anywhere on his own, so Clara didn't hesitate to climb into the passenger seat, where he handed her the rifle. Clara held it at arm’s length while he turned the key in the ignition.

“Where are we going?” she asked, but she knew the answer even before John spoke.

“We'll find Ciaran O'Neill. Tonight,” John replied, his voice brimming with determination and he turned to look at her. His eyes were fierce and for a brief second, Clara wondered if he hated her. “We'll put an end to this madness.”

John pulled off into the night and there was nothing Clara could do to stop him now, so she remained quiet in the passenger seat for as long as she could bear it. Her thoughts, however, were anything but quiet. This was what she wanted, wasn't it? Ciaran O'Neill arrested by the police, brought to justice. Wasn't that what she had dreamed of every single night ever since Danny's death?

Clara tried to tell herself that, but she knew in her heart that it had ceased to be true a while ago because recently, she had started dreaming about John instead and a part of her was afraid that as soon as Ciaran O'Neill was out of the way, John would leave her forever. Somehow, it felt as if she could only have one or the other but never both.

“What are you going to do with the rifle?” she asked, surprised when her voice was barely a whisper.

John still heard her. “I'm going to do what needs to be done,” he hissed. “You don't think a man like O'Neill will come quietly, do you?”

His answer was anything but reassuring and once Clara read between the lines, she realised that John would kill him if he needed to. The thought of it made her sick and right now, she would choose John over her own revenge if she still had a choice. She didn't. That ship had sailed now. “How are you even going to find him?” she asked desperately as he kept on driving down a small path between the fields. “I'm sure he's long gone.”

“We're on an island. He can't just leave.” John kept his eyes firmly on the path ahead and Clara could hear the stray branches and stones whipping against the car as they kept going. “He's not staying at a hotel or B&B, we've combed through every single one. He walked to my house, so we know he can't be far. And this road leads to the old Campbell estate. Either he's camping out there or he's got a tent hidden away somewhere.”

“Bit cold for that,” Clara said with a shrug, a vain attempt at humour that John obviously didn't appreciate at this moment. She knew the old Campbell estate, a ramshackle mansion a little too close to the cliffs, which was why no one had bought it after the death of the last owner. Since Mr Campbell's passing, no one had taken care of the house and it had started to fall into ruin under the constant battering of the storm and the water.

While she still wished that she could take back her last remark, Clara suddenly felt her body fly towards the dashboard as John hit the brakes. She managed to hold on to the rifle at the last moment before it flew through the windscreen, only to have it yanked from her hands mere seconds later.

“What's going on?” she wanted to know, but she answered her own question by looking ahead. In front of them, barely visible in the headlights, was the distant figure of Ciaran O'Neill as he headed down the path and Clara couldn't help but think that she was looking at a ghost. He was as good as dead already in her eyes.

The slamming of the car door tore her out of her thoughts and Clara watched John through the windscreen as he followed after O'Neill. She gasped when he raised his rifle and Clara had already braced herself for the worst when he fired a warning shot into the air. The sound of it took her by surprise and she felt her heart skip a beat. She followed John outside with every intention of stopping this madness before anyone got hurt.

“Ciaran O'Neill, you are under arrest!” John shouted through the night and to her surprise, O'Neill came to a halt. As if in slow motion, he turned around and despite the distance, Clara could see his smile. He was still smug even though he had been caught. “Raise your hands in the air! If you attempt to reach for your gun, I will shoot! Is that clear?”

The man hesitated and the smile didn't fade from his lips. Clara already feared that he wasn't going to comply when he slowly started to lift his hands. He was still carrying the box in one of them. Almost at once, Clara felt lighter. O'Neill was listening to John. He had realised that it was over and he was going to let John arrest him. But that smile. It was the cold, devilish smile that gave her pause, that let her think O'Neill still had an ace up his sleeve.

“John, please be careful,” she pleaded, but it was just like the night Bonnie had died. The wind carried her words away and Clara wasn't sure whether they reached John at all.

She decided to keep her distance while John carefully approached the man who seemed to surrender duly. O'Neill didn't move even when John stepped closer and he kept his arms in the air, but the smile on his face gave Clara goosebumps. She just couldn't will herself to believe that this was supposed to be it; that after months of hoping and fearing, the solution was that easy. It just couldn't be, but O'Neill made no move to escape or defend himself as John reached into his pocket and drew out a pair of handcuffs. Clara pricked her ears and stepped a little closer so she could hear them.

“I'm going to put to these cuffs on you,” John explained to the other man, his voice cold as stone. Clara could hear the hatred in it and she wasn't sure whether it was directed at O'Neill or her.

Suddenly, Ciaran O'Neill started to chuckle. “Why am I under arrest? I was only taking a walk.”

“You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. You are under arrest for the murder of Danny Pink,” John spat at him. “For your involvement with the IRA. For the assault on Clara Oswald. For the armed burglary earlier. The list is long, so you can take your pick.”

While John placed the cuffs on O'Neill's wrist, Clara held her breath because he still hadn't stopped smiling. He should have stopped as soon as she and John had caught up with him because there was no way this could possibly go well for him – unless he had a plan and that was what really scared Clara.

“If you say so, DI Smith,” O'Neill replied, still chuckling as if the prospect of being arrested somehow amused him.

Then everything happened too fast to take and Clara could do nothing to stop it except to scream. Ciaran O'Neill spun around just before John was able to put the cuff on his other wrist and he lunged and landed a punch straight in John's face.

“John!” Clara cried out in horror and darted forward as he hit the ground and crawled into the dark grass that wasn't illuminated by the headlights.

A second later, O'Neill dived into the grass after him and she heard a groan that had to come from John, but by the time she had caught up with them, John was pressing O'Neill to the ground. Clara was desperately looking for a way to intervene, for a way to stop this fight and help John out, but the rifle had fallen into the grass and was nowhere to be seen.

“Stop it!” she yelled in despair, but the men continued fighting and when O'Neill gained the upper hand by flipping them over, Clara wanted to scream. It was all she could do because her feet were frozen to the ground and all she kept thinking was that her revenge no longer mattered. All she wanted was for John to be safe.

Eventually, John struggled back into an upright position and when O'Neill did the same, Clara realised that they were both too close to the edge of the cliff. A few feet behind them was the precipice and below that, the sheer drop and the sea. They weren't far from where Bonnie had fallen.

O'Neill didn't hesitate to land another punch that made John topple backwards and land dangerously close to the edge. Clara gasped, pointing at the cliffs, but either John didn't see or hear her as he fought back. He, too, had come to realise that it was now a matter of life and death. A kick that landed in O'Neill's stomach didn't stop the man. If anything, it made him angrier.

“John! The cliffs!” Clara yelled one last time and in her mind’s eye, she saw Bonnie fall and vanish from sight. She had a horrible feeling that history was about to repeat itself, and as O'Neill lunged at John, Clara screamed at the top of her lungs as he fell and disappeared from view forever.


	58. Chapter 58

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn, I can't even properly scare you guys :D Probably shouldn't have mentioned that there will be a sequel or you would've been afraid for John...

John was panting, trying to catch his breath and calm his heartbeat, which was still accelerated from the fight, but it was over now and he was free to breathe. Ciaran O'Neill was dead. After decades in the police force, it was the first time he had actually killed someone and right now, John didn't even feel guilt or regret. A numbness had settled over him as he stood at the far end of the cliffs and stared down to the waves far below; the waves which had claimed O'Neill's body the second he had fallen. There was no way anyone could possibly survive the fall and in a strange, morbid way, John felt relieved. It was finally over. He had closed the case.

“John!” Clara exclaimed next to him and he was surprised when she suddenly flung her arms around him in a tight embrace. She was crying, but he felt too numb to even comfort her. He had killed someone for Clara and if he could turn back time and undo this entire evening, he would still do it again – all of that for a woman who deceived him for months. John didn't hate her, but he hated himself for falling for her lies, he hated himself because he was still in love and he hated himself because, once again, he had given his heart to someone who wasn't deserving of it.

The longer it lasted, the more her touch began to anger him and he struggled free from her embrace, not saying a single word in the process. In the headlights, he saw the tears wetting her cheeks. Maybe he did hate her just a little, but that was a consideration for another time. Right now, as the adrenaline started to leave him, John felt rattled and all he wanted was to lie down and stare at the ceiling; he wanted to do and think about nothing at all for a very long time.

“We have to call the police,” Clara told him, her voice quiet and gentle. It tugged at his heart even after everything he had learned. “We have to tell them what happened.”

Wordlessly, John bent down and picked up his rifle that had fallen to the ground and then, a few feet away, the box that had started all of it. O'Neill must have dropped it and John shoved it into Clara's hands without saying a word as he walked past her and towards the car.

“John, are you even listening to me?” she demanded to know, following after him. He didn't want to talk to her. John didn't even want to look at her because he knew that her face would remind him of all the possibilities: of a potential relationship, and of the brief but special time he had shared with Clara. Right now, John felt unable to think about any of that.

“I am the police,” he said simply as he climbed into his car and slammed the door shut.

The drive back to the house seemed endless and interminable as they sat in silence, but he was glad that Clara didn't try to force a conversation. He needed time to think, even though a part of him would very much love to close this chapter of his life, put it in a box and place it in a dark corner of his wardrobe where he wouldn't have to look at it. John didn't know what would happen next and he didn't know what he was supposed to do. Up until now, his life had been one straight line. Leaving his home to become a detective had come naturally to him and he hadn't spent a great deal of time thinking it through. Marrying River had been one of the most natural occurrences in his life, just like the search for her after her disappearance. Even falling in love with Clara was something that just had to happen, but now, John felt at a loss. There was a dead body in the sea and he had put it there even though it was by accident. Did the contents of the box even matter now that O’Neill was dead? John couldn't say, but next to him, Clara was clutching it in her hands as if holding on for dear life. And Clara… no, he couldn't think about that just yet. Her deception was too painful.

Everything that happened after he parked his car in front of his home felt like the acts of a stranger. He fed Odin, he fetched a glass of whiskey, but even as he sat down to drink it, he didn't quite feel real. A part of him longed for Clara's touch to tear him out of this trance, but he quickly remembered her confession and everything she had kept from him. Why hadn't she trusted him enough to tell him sooner? He would have helped. He would have made sure that O'Neill went to prison for everyone he had done. There was absolutely nothing John wouldn't have done for Clara, so why hadn't she seen that? The worst part of it was that John had known and he had ignored it because of his feelings for her. Had she counted on that? Was that all part of her plan? And if she had lied to him about Bonnie, had she lied about her feelings as well?

A sound made John look up and he spotted Clara standing in the doorway, a small, lost figure in this big house. She still hadn't let go of the box.

“I'm sorry that I lied to you,” Clara said after a while and even though John wanted to believe that her apology was sincere, he just couldn't be sure now, could he? “I know I should have trusted you. I know I messed up. Here.”

She stepped closer and held the box in his direction. If he stretched his arm, he would be able to reach it with his hands. But instead of taking it, John furrowed his brow at her.

“What do you want me to do with that?” he asked. He still didn't know what to do.

Clara shrugged, a forlorn expression on her face. Somehow, he got the impression that Clara's head was in just as much turmoil as his own. “Read it. Burn it. Hand it over to Kate. I don't care,” she replied. “It doesn't matter now.”

John scoffed and took the box out of her hands. “Yeah,” he breathed, but he couldn't bring himself to say anything else. O'Neill was dead. Clara got what she wanted.

“Do what you think is best,” Clara told him. “You can tell them all about me, about what I did, I don't care. Nothing that happens from here on can bring Danny or Bonnie back.”

She wasn't crying, but John could tell from the look on her face that she wanted to and she probably would as soon as the door closed behind her. He had been the same after River's death. He also had reached the point where he knew that he could move heaven and earth and still not bring her back. It was a terrible, dreadful place and despite all of his anger and disappointment, John knew that he would have done the exact same thing in Clara's place. Though whether that made it better or maybe even worse, John couldn't say.

“I need to be alone,” he said instead. “I need some time to think.”

Clara attempted to take a step in his direction, but she stopped herself at the last moment and nodded in reply. For her, the nightmare would be over at some point and she could move on, but she still had a long way to go.

“Alright,” she breathed and John watched as Clara turned around and slowly walked out of the room. There was a hesitation in her steps that told him she wanted him to stop her, that she wanted him to say something, to forgive her, but John wasn't ready for that yet. He let her go.


	59. Chapter 59

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the comments, my faithful readers :) We are almost at the end of this story and the final chapter will go online on Christmas Day :)

The wind was still harsh for a spring morning and Detective Inspector John Smith wrapped his coat a little more tightly around his body as he stood on the edge of the cliffs and stared down at the corpse that was sprawled out across the stones where only a couple of months ago, they had found the body of Bonnie Moore. There may have been something poetic about the way this case ended, but John couldn't see it. All he saw was the lifeless figure of Ciaran O'Neill as the waves gently moved his legs. A part of him waited for the man to get up and laugh in everyone's faces, but he was dead and everything else was just in his mind.

“It's Ciaran O'Neill without a doubt,” Kate said with a heavy sigh as she appeared next to him. His boss seemed relieved regardless of _how_ they had closed this case, but he couldn't blame her for it. An IRA agent and murderer on the loose on this island? It was only natural that Kate felt glad it was over. “I just went down to check. Had to see it for myself.”

“Any idea how he died?” John asked coldly. Maybe that was the part where Kate would reveal a pair of handcuffs and arrest him for the part he had played in O'Neill's death.  
He wasn't surprised when Kate frowned at him and took a closer look at his face. Finally, she noticed the bruise around his eye, although he had assumed she never would.

“What happened to your face?” she wanted to know, sounding shocked as she nodded towards the black eye.

John shrugged. “Headbutted my dog last night.”

His boss chuckled softly and he guessed that she was picturing it in her head right now, picturing something that had never happened. He decided to focus on the matter at hand.

“So, Ciaran O'Neill?” he asked.

Kate shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine. Accident. Suicide. Murder. But isn't it odd that we found him just where we found Bonnie Moore?”

“You said the bodies usually wash up around here. And I wouldn't say odd, I'd call it poetic justice,” John replied and he even meant it. At least a little. “He killed Bonnie and he died just like her.”

“Mm,” Kate uttered, her voice sounding curious as she raised her eyebrows at him. “Funny you should mention that.”

“Why?”

“Because a few minutes ago, plod told me they’ve found a box where they thought O'Neill must have fallen. A box that appears to have belonged to Bonnie Moore. It looks like an excellent motive for murder.”

“Interesting,” John replied, trying his best to sound surprised even though he knew he didn't sound particularly convincing. “What was in that box?”

His boss inhaled deeply, gathering her thoughts before she spoke. “Well, we were both right and wrong in our guesses. Bonnie Moore was in the IRA, but she was an investigative journalist, writing a piece on them. I've only had a quick look at what’s inside, but it looks like a lot of information. I have no doubt that O'Neill murdered Bonnie for it. Hell, she even had proof that O'Neill was responsible for the death of Clara's boyfriend. It's all in there.”

John knew, but he couldn't tell Kate that. Last night, instead of sleeping, John had gone through the contents of the box piece by piece and he had come up with a plan. It wasn't a good plan. It wasn't something a detective should do, but despite his anger, he still felt the inexplicable urge to protect Clara. So he had gone out in the small hours, covered his tracks and placed the box where people were sure to find it.

“That does indeed sound like a good motive for murder,” he agreed. “Not that I had any doubts before. But now we know that O'Neill killed Bonnie because she knew too much.”

“But why did she come _here_? Why this island?”

He granted her a sad smile. “Well, she's not exactly around to ask,” he said. “But assuming Danny was collateral damage, Bonnie might have realised she had a twin and that being in Clara's vicinity could serve as some kind of protection. Hence the note with Clara's address in her pocket. Would O'Neill strike if he couldn't be sure who he was about to kill? And we know that O'Neill thought Clara knew something or had something, maybe a copy of what's inside this box, so he stuck around and threatened her. He couldn't have known that the twins had no connection.”

Kate hesitated for a moment, letting his words sink in, but eventually, she nodded. “That makes sense, I guess. But we'll never prove it, seeing that the only people who could tell us are both dead.”

“Well, I'd say this was either suicide or an accident,” John concluded. “No one had a motive to kill O'Neill and he probably figured that there was no way off this island without getting caught. Or it was an accident and he got lost in the storm and fell down the cliffs. That's it.”

To his surprise, his boss chuckled. “Is that what you want me to write in my report?” Kate asked. “‘Looked at the body, came up with a wild theory and put it down as accident or suicide’?”

“What else are you going to do? You can't question the dead,” he argued. He had to try very hard not to sound annoyed when he really just wanted this entire thing to be over. “Forensics found no traces. There's no motive. A murderer is dead. It's over and he won't hurt anyone ever again. Case closed. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to inform Clara.”

John turned around, tired of talking to Kate because he knew that sooner or later, she would arrive at the same conclusion, if he hadn't made a mistake – and he really hadn't. Yet as he started to walk away, he heard Kate's voice one more time.

“You had a motive. As did Clara,” his boss said a little too matter-of-factly. Was she suspicious of him?

John spun around and glared at her for a moment. She was within her rights to ask him that and she wasn't wrong. He and Clara were the only possible suspects in this, but John had prepared for everything, even for that.

“What did Osgood say about the time of death?” John wanted to know.

“Last night between seven pm and midnight.”

He took a deep breath, knowing that once the words were out, there was no way to take them back. There was one more step he had to take to cover everything up, including Clara's involvement. “Clara was with me last night,” John said and it wasn't even a lie.

“You made up?” Kate asked hopefully.

“No,” John growled and turned his back on her before he resumed his stride back to his car.

He told himself that what he was covering up wasn't a crime. John hadn't killed anyone and neither had Clara. Ciaran O'Neill's death was an accident and a part of John thought that he deserved it. O'Neill had killed Danny, he would have killed Bonnie too if it hadn't been for the tragic circumstances under which she had lost her life, and he might even have killed Clara. The world was safer without him and at some point, the nightmares would fade, as would the memories of last night. John would move on and Clara finally had a chance to do the same now that her fiancé’s killer had been brought to justice. But that didn't mean he could forgive her so easily.

There was one thing he had learned from this experience and it wasn't pleasant to think about his own failure. His father had been right all along. John wasn't a great detective. A great detective wouldn't have covered up the accident just to keep a woman safe; a great detective wouldn't have fallen in love with a suspect; a great detective wouldn't have ignored his gut instinct just because he was blinded by a pretty face. No matter how he put it, John had failed and it felt a little as if his father was looking down on him right now, laughing and muttering 'I told you so.'


	60. Chapter 60

“I'm sorry,” Clara whispered into the phone, her heart sinking as she listened to the news. It couldn't have come at a worse time, but that was life, wasn't it? It found you when you were already down and gave you another good kicking. “I'll be right there.”

“That's really not necessary, Clara. We know you have your life and your job in Scotland now. It's not like you're still living with us,” Mr Maitland said, sounding sincere, but Clara didn't want to hear it. She just needed an excuse, any excuse to go away for a while, put some distance between herself and everything that had happened. Spending some time in London with people who were as good as family sounded ideal to her right now, even though the circumstances were anything but happy. She just needed to take her mind off Danny, O'Neill, Bonnie, and maybe even John.

“You're family,” Clara reassured him. “I'll pack my bags straight away.”

A knock on her front door interrupted the phone call and she looked up. For a moment, she was afraid that it might be the police. By now, John would have told them everything and maybe they had come to arrest her because of the part she had played in everything.

“I have to go,” she said to Mr Maitland. “But I'll come to London as soon as I can. I promise.”

 

Clara opened the door once as she had hung up, but to her surprise, she didn't see an entire squad of policemen. There was only John. The expression on his face was enough to let her know that an arrest wouldn't be happening today, yet he still seemed angry and Clara assumed it would remain that way for a long time. She couldn't blame him for that.

“I came to inform you that Ciaran O'Neill's body was found this morning,” John said coldly. The warmth and affection she had come associate with his voice were gone and she doubted that they would ever return. “We think it was either suicide or an accident, but a suicide is more likely. We have proof that he killed your boyfriend and reason to believe that he also killed Bonnie. He probably realised that there was no way off this island without getting caught and jumped off a cliff.”

Clara frowned at him, not understanding why he was telling her this and why he was being so formal about it. She was there when it happened and apparently, he had lied for her and covered their tracks. Why keep up the pretence when she already knew the truth?

“John, why are you telling me this?” Clara wanted to know and she felt a wave of nausea run through her. His thoroughly rehearsed story sounded almost like he was saying goodbye, like he never planned to speak to her again.

“Because you used me!” The sudden anger and sharpness of his voice took her surprise and it made her flinch. “That’s what you were trying to do and I'm the idiot who fell for it hook, line, and sinker! Congratulations! You got exactly what you wanted! O'Neill is dead.”

“It wasn't like that-” Clara tried to defend herself but was cut off by John.

“Yes, it was! You used me and my feelings for you to get your revenge!” he yelled at her in response. “You played the damsel in distress, you took advantage of how I felt and you made me believe that there was something between us when all you wanted me to do was to kill the person who murdered your boyfriend! I would have helped you, Clara! There was no need to trick me into thinking we had a connection!”

“That is _not_ what happened!” she shouted back at him, crossing her arms in front of her chest in a defensive gesture. John was well within his rights to be furious with her, but he couldn't be more wrong about what he was saying. “You have every right to be angry and to hate me. I lied to you, I betrayed you, yes, that's true, but I never used you! My feelings for you are real and if I could go back and undo the damage I've done, I would, but I can't. I have to live with that now, but don't you dare accuse me of lying about my feelings!”

John merely glared at her in response, so Clara decided to continue. If she wanted just a glimmer of a chance with John, she had to say it now.

“You're the first person I’ve fallen in love with since Danny and that means a lot to me, so don't you dare say that it wasn't real, don't you dare insult me in that way!”

He took her by surprise as he suddenly started to laugh. “Fine, okay, we love each other,” he spat, scoffing. “But how can I believe a single word that comes out of your mouth now? Don't get me wrong, I'd love to. I'd love to just forget about everything that happened and be with you, but how can I? You lied to me, and I lied _for_ you. How can we do this?!”

The despair was audible in his voice and Clara felt the exact same thing. She just didn't know. She wanted to know, she wanted to have the perfect solution, but it was evading her.

“I don't know,” she admitted with a sigh. “I'd love to do the same, but I'm not ready. After everything that happened, I'm not ready to start something and I just need to get my head straight. I need time.”

John exhaled sharply, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and Clara could sense that they were done shouting at each other for now. The events of last night hadn't changed anything for her. She still wanted to be with him, she still loved him and even though he was furious at her, Clara knew that John still had feelings for her too, but everything else was wrong. Wrong time. Wrong place. Wrong circumstance. Maybe time apart to cool down was exactly what they both needed. All she needed to know was whether there was any point in hoping.

She swallowed. “Do you think you could forgive me at some point?” Clara asked carefully.

He raised his head and looked at her for a long moment while Clara was hoping for a yes, but John merely shrugged his shoulders. “I don't know,” he replied sincerely. “Maybe. Maybe not. I need time, too.”

“I'm going back to London,” Clara announced, not knowing what else to say. She was going away, giving them time. John's eyes widened at the news and he looked more shocked than she had anticipated. “Just for a while. A family I used to live with, they need my help. The kids' mother just died.”

“Oh,” John uttered, obviously taken by surprise by her announcement. He had talked about needing time and being angry, but it seemed as if he didn't like the option of her leaving either. “Um, well, how long will you be gone for?”

“A couple of weeks, maybe,” she replied. “They let me stay with them during university. I owe them.”

John nodded and Clara was ready to change her mind and stay when she noticed the look on his face. It broke her heart to see him like that after everything that had happened and she realised just how disappointed John was despite what they had both just said. He had done so much for her and now she was about to take off and leave. Even though it was the right thing to do, she still felt guilty.

“I appreciate everything you did for me,” Clara said, meaning every word. While she was talking, she could feel the tears as they made their way to the outside. “But above all, I appreciate your friendship. You understood me better than anyone and I'm grateful for that. And you made me realise that it's possible to move on when I didn't think I ever could.”

He nodded again and Clara was afraid he would just leave without saying anything to her, but eventually, he opened his mouth. “When you get back, we'll talk, but right now, I'm just a little too angry.”

Clara swallowed her tears and waved at him. John had already taken a step back, ready to leave, but suddenly, he bent forward and planted a quick kiss on her cheek before he turned around and started to walk away. She would see him again, Clara was sure of that even though she had no idea what their reunion would bring. The nightmare was over, Clara knew that now that O'Neill was dead, but she didn't feel any better. Revenge hadn't changed a thing, but it had caused her to lose the one thing she had truly loved about her life here in Scotland and she vowed that as soon as she felt ready to, she would fight as hard as she could to get it back. If the recent months had proved anything, then it was that Clara Oswald always got what she wanted – even if it took time.

 

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so, so, so much for all your lovely comments and special thanks to all of you who bought my book! It was your ongoing support of all my fics that made this happen and I am so grateful for every single comment and every single message I've received not just for this fic but all the previous ones and the ones yet to come :) 
> 
> I hope you're all having a marvellous Christmas Day! But don't worry if this chapter left your wishes unfulfilled because John and Clara will return in a sequel called "A Ruthless Game" which I will post after my fairytale AU :)


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